


Irooni (The First Draft)

by DameOfNoDelicacy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romance, Some mild/non-graphic sexual content, Trust, shikai, some language, young shunsui, young ukitake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameOfNoDelicacy/pseuds/DameOfNoDelicacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*UPDATE*</p><p>'Irooni' has MOVED. </p><p>If you're looking for the most recent update on this fic, then please read the notice in 'Chapter 13: UPDATE.' (This is not a new chapter to 'Irooni,' but rather an explanation of the story's unexpected hiatus, and a description of the author's plans to go forward with the fic.)</p><p>If you're looking to read this fic for the first time, then please find the latest version here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8515474/chapters/19517710<br/>('Irooni (The First Draft)' will remain available to read on AO3 - and please do read it, if you'd like! - but know that it will no longer be updated, and that aspects of the new, edited version may differ considerably from aspects of the version found here.)</p><p>Thanks, everyone!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White

Kyōraku Shunsui knows many things.

Kyōraku Shunsui knows how to make friends. He knows how to hold his shaggy head high on formal occasions. He knows how to read and write and recite poetry. He knows how to dress – or, he thinks he does, anyway. These days, he can say, with both honesty and pride, that he knows how to use _shunpo_ and _kido_ and how to call the name of his zanpakuto.

When it comes down to it, Kyōraku Shunsui is skilled, and he knows it.

Kyōraku Shunsui is damn _good_ , just _generally –_ he smiles to himself, chuckles softly – and he knows it.

And, more than anything, Kyōraku Shunsui knows how to drink.

As he sips his sake, a fragrant vintage that walks the line between subtlety and dryness almost perfectly, he reflects that the same is not true of several of his comrades. “Work hard, play hard” isn’t exactly the motto of the Shinigami Academy, after all; without question, students and teachers alike emphasize the “work hard” half of that mantra. Shunsui is no exception, of course. But he finds his lessons fairly easy, and most components of combat come naturally to him – it’s just the way Shunsui is. And so, Shunsui takes regular advantage of his consequently ample free time and fortuitously ample resources, and Shunsui drinks.

Tonight is a little different, though, and truthfully, Shunsui isn’t sure whether he welcomes the change. Tonight is not solitude and string music stuck in your head and clear-sky-glimpses of stars while lying on your back in the long grass – no, tonight is a celebration. Tonight marks the one-year anniversary of his and his companions’ entrance into the Shinigami Academy. Paper lanterns hang on draped, braided strings above Shunsui’s head, casting the tranquil garden in a warm, ruddy light. It probably disguises the flush that is undoubtedly creeping into many of his friends’ cheeks, thinks Shunsui, whose dark complexion, constant brown stubble, and experience with inebriation prevent such a flush in his own face. Still, he likes to imagine that the glow of the lanterns adds a little extra something to his sharp but otherwise uninteresting features. A tinge of life, perhaps? A tinge of handsomeness? Sex appeal? Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Shunsui’s night thus far has passed in vague flashes of color, nothing more. Shunsui’s night has passed in the red of the lanterns, in the cobalt and the maroon of swishing uniforms, in the black of shining hair, in the subtle silvery flashes of light off of a few students’ spectacles. It has passed in the muted green of the grassy ground. It has passed in the murky brown of tree trunks, and in the pink of cherry blossoms. And all is cast against the rich navy of the night sky, which stretches endlessly above their heads. And, the moon – the moon glows orange tonight. Shunsui knows he’s spoken, knows he’s laughed and raised his cup with his classmates. Of _course_ he has. But this is not what he remembers.

Shunsui remembers the colors.

A few of the students at his table are eagerly discussing their respective shikai. Shunsui listens politely enough, but he has no interest in contributing to the conversation. Katen Kyōkotsu’s shikai still freaks him out a little, actually, and he doesn’t want to dampen the mood of the party by bringing it up. So, after a time, Shunsui pours himself another cup of sake, leans back, and watches the festivities go by.

At times like this, Shunsui can’t help but wax a little contemplative. To say that Kyōraku Shunsui is lonely would be a grand and pathetic exaggeration. Kyōraku Shunsui is most certainly _not_ lonely. Shunsui has never lacked for company. As he observes the merriment around him, he has no trouble pointing out several individuals with whom he’s shared a drink, with whom he’s sparred, with whom he’s spent late nights talking and laughing and philosophizing. And, of course, there are more than a few with whom he’s interacted on a slightly more intimate level – because Kyōraku Shunsui knows how to reel in a girl when he wants to, too.

But despite all this, something still perpetually leaves Kyōraku Shunsui feeling – _feeling what? Empty? No, that’s not quite right_ , Shunsui thinks, and he frowns.

“Hey, you okay, man?” whispers one of the students at his table, turning to Shunsui and nudging him gently in the arm.

“Huh?” Shunsui starts. _Must’a seen my dopey facial expression_ , he reasons. “Aww, yeah,” he drawls, “fine. Just fine.”

“Just checkin’,” the student says, smiling. “You looked a little upset for a second there.” Seemingly reassured, he turns back to the rest of the group.

_Well. I just told that guy a bald-faced lie_ , thinks Shunsui.

And then it hits him.

There, in the middle of the celebratory revels and beneath the dull glow of the lantern lights, Kyōraku Shunsui realizes that there might not be a single soul in the world who truly knows him. _I… I’ve never been fully honest with even one of my friends, have I?_ The force of the realization shocks him. On principle, Kyōraku Shunsui is not generally a liar – but it isn’t as simple as that. Shunsui has been living guarded by half-truths, by masquerades, by approximations and oversimplifications. The things Shunsui says and does aren’t _false_ , not exactly, but to say that they accurately represent who he is… well. That wouldn’t exactly be spot-on either.

His friends, Shunsui knows, would never, never be able to guess his shikai – _though,_ reflects Shunsui _, it’s probably better that way_. As long as he lets them, Shunsui’s friends will continue to view him as carefree, fun-loving, even lazy. His friends will continue to view him as an unshaven slacker who, despite his lack of discipline, will never want for female companionship. His friends will continue to view him as an awkward splash of, say, pink among black, who does little more than slake his perpetual thirst with sake and draw his swords only when explicitly ordered to do so.

Shunsui stares intently at the faces – _pink skin, brown hair, yellow hair, bronze spectacles_ – that flit across his field of vision. _None of them know me. None of them_. What’s more, to his surprise, he can only attach names to about half of the faces he sees.

A roar of laughter off to his right grabs his attention. A large group of students all stand in something like a circle, most of them clutching their sides or wiping tears from their eyes as they struggle to maintain their composure. Shunsui’s interest piques. _I wonder what happened over_ – but before he can complete the thought, one side of the circle collapses in on itself, and laughter erupts from the students once more.

_What the…?_ Shunsui cranes his neck to get a closer look. “C’mon, man, you can _totally_ stand up,” urges one of the students in the circle, but another quickly shoots him down, saying, “Hey, give him a break – he’s never had sake before! What’d’ja expect?” Shunsui’s interest piques even more. _There’s some poor guy over there who’s never had sake before, huh?_ That was mildly amusing, if nothing else. “Whoa – ” comes another voice from the circle, “whoa, he’s goin’ down again, catch him, _catch_ him!” and then half the circle dissolves into a jumble of black and white robes and protruding arms and legs and thoroughly unsophisticated guffaws on the ground. Shunsui catches himself laughing a little, too – he recognizes one or two students in the group, and he has to admit, it’s kind of funny to see his classmates in that big, old, muddled heap on the ground.

Eventually, most of the students stagger upright, but Shunsui sees that two of them remain on the ground. One of them looks a little worse for wear – _must be the guy who’s making his first foray into the grand world of sake._ He sits with his feet stuck out in front of him, and he’s got his head tipped backwards, neck straining a little, so that he can meet the eyes of a second man who appears to be offering him words of encouragement. The first man blinks rapidly and speaks in stops and starts. His face is plain and open and easy for Shunsui to see from his spot at the table.

But the second man…

Shunsui holds his breath. All he can think is –

_White_.

The second man’s face is hidden from Shunsui’s view. Chin-length hair, true white like new fallen snow, hangs down in front of it. A few shining strands blow gently in the evening breeze, spreading out around the man’s bowed head in ghostly, ephemeral tendrils. His pale hands rest atop the first man’s shoulders as he kneels in an almost grandfatherly fashion. He nods slowly and patiently at regular intervals, responding to the first man’s incoherent babbles. And something else, too – _Whoa,_ realizes Shunsui. _His spiritual pressure…_

Shunsui would remember if he’d seen that man before, he’s sure of it. Even without seeing his face, he’s sure of it. “Hey,” says Shunsui to one of his companions at the table, not really caring that he’s interrupting the conversation about shikai, “who – who’s that guy?”

“Wha – ?” says his friend, following Shunsui’s gaze. “Oh, that guy? Name’s Kiyoshi. We studied swordsmanship together, but he wasn’t very – ”

“No, no, not _that_ guy,” says Shunsui. “ _That_ guy. The other guy.”

“Oh.” His friend rubs his chin in thought. “That dude with the white hair? Dunno exactly. Can’t say we’ve ever formally met. I think he might’a been in one of my kido classes, though…”

“Really?” says Shunsui, only halfway paying attention. He starts to stand. He wants to meet this man. He needs to. He can’t explain it, but something in him needs to.

“Uh-huh,” his friend replies, “really. If he’s who I think he is, his reiatsu is, like… _insane_ …”

“Yeah, I can tell,” says Shunsui. _He’s strong. Really strong._ Shunsui takes a few slow steps away from the table.

“If he’s who I think he is. See for yourself!”

“Thanks,” tosses Shunsui over his shoulder, and he makes his way forward as confidently as he can.

When he reaches his destination, Shunsui plops down cross-legged alongside the two men and presents them with the most charming smile he can muster. He looks to Kiyoshi first. “Hiya,” he says. “Kiyoshi, right? How’re ya doin’, old buddy?”

Kiyoshi gapes at him, clearly not equipped to deal with such a startling turn of events. “Do I…” he finally stutters, “do I know you?”

“Sure! I’m Shunsui, remember? We – uh – ” he glances briefly back at the table where he was sitting – “we studied swordsmanship together!”

“Did we?” Kiyoshi’s eyebrows knit together as he struggles to remember.

“You bet we did! And,” he says, “I saw that you were having kind of a rough night. I just wanted to pop on over here and make sure you were doin’ okay.”

Kiyoshi’s lip trembles. “I think,” he proclaims after a long moment, “that I’m drunk.”

Shunsui is about to reply, but just then, he hears a voice, low-pitched and calm and kind, in his left ear. “Please, pardon me for interrupting,” it says, “but I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted.”

When Shunsui turns, he is met with the purest, greenest pair of eyes he has ever seen. _And that spiritual pressure again – damn, this guy must be somethin’ amazing –_ “Hi,” manages Shunsui, hoping that he’s hiding his astonishment well. “Kyōraku Shunsui. First year.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Kyōraku-san,” the white-haired, green-eyed man says. “My name is Ukitake Jūshirō.” When Shunsui says nothing, the man – Ukitake Jūshirō – continues, “I’m – I’m a first year as well.”

“Oh.” Shunsui swallows, still pulled in, as if hypnotically, by those clear eyes and that immense spiritual pressure. _Get it together, Shunsui. You’re cleverer than “oh,” ya know._ “Good to meet you too.” _Ohh, real nice, Shunsui. Real original. Real smooth. Come on, come ON –_

“Cool name,” Shunsui blurts out. “Uh. Easy to remember. I guess your parents named you Jūshirō because’a that white hair, huh?”

That green gaze wavers for the briefest of moments. _Uh-oh. Why do I get the impression that that was the wrong thing to say?_ “No, actually,” Ukitake Jūshirō says. His voice has not grown angry, but it has grown… more subdued, perhaps? “It’s written differently,” he continues, by way of explanation, “but don’t worry – that’s a common assumption. And I understand why people often think that, of course.” And Ukitake Jūshirō offers Shunsui a small, earnest smile.

“Ah,” says Shunsui, somewhat disarmed and not exactly sure how to proceed. He turns back to Kiyoshi, who has since pressed his hands to his temples and has begun to groan quietly in the back of his throat. “This guy doesn’t look too good…”

“No,” Ukitake Jūshirō agrees. “I was hoping to pick him up and get him to a safe place, but he’s proving more resistant than I anticipated.”

Hearing Kiyoshi’s groans grow louder, Shunsui finagles one arm around the fallen student and slaps that charming smile on his face once again. “I’ll help you out, Ukitake-san,” Shunsui declares.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to miss the party.” A glint of humor flashes in those green eyes. “You strike me as the kind of man who likes a good party, Kyōraku-san.”

“Heh!” Shunsui shrugs, as much as he can with Kiyoshi’s weight bearing down on his shoulders. “Very perceptive! You’re not wrong. But I’m kinda partied-out for the time being. Whaddya say? Accept my help, Ukitake-san?”

Ukitake Jūshirō runs a hand through his short, white hair – _white_ , comes Shunsui’s thought again – and gives a quiet, little laugh. “All right, Kyōraku-san. I will. Thank you.”

After a minute or so of clunky maneuvering, Kyōraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō manage to drag Kiyoshi to a standing position. Kiyoshi’s left arm drapes across Ukitake Jūshirō’s shoulders, and his right arm drapes across Shunsui’s. “All set?” asks Shunsui, glancing sideways to make sure that both of his fellow students are ready to put one foot in front of the other and traipse back to the barracks.

Kiyoshi, eyes closed and head lolling, says “Mmh.”

Ukitake Jūshirō nods once. “Yes,” he says.

 

***

 

The trek isn’t long, but it isn’t exactly pleasant, either. Twice, Kiyoshi nearly topples over, but both times, between the two of them, Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō manage to help him regain his footing. _Jeez_ , thinks Shunsui as they all stumble together through the Seireitei, _this guy’s heavier than he looks. Or maybe this walk is just longer than I remembered._ Either way, Shunsui’s actually sweating a little bit by the time they finally reach the doors of the student barracks. “Phew,” he says, unravelling himself from Kiyoshi’s grip. “Made it.”

“Mmh,” says Kiyoshi.

Kiyoshi tries three times to open the door, batting at it with clumsy hands. When his fourth and fifth attempts are equally unsuccessful, Shunsui intervenes, opening the door for him. “You good, buddy?” he asks.

Kiyoshi’s eyes clear briefly as he registers the question. “I… I _think_ so,” he says. He nearly tumbles over again, but he stops himself from falling by leaning heavily on the doorframe. “Um.” He bites his lip, clearly embarrassed. “Thanks… uh, Shunsui? That was your name, right?”

“Yep.”

“And, uh – thanks, Jūshirō,” Kiyoshi calls into the darkness, quite a bit louder than necessary. “I owe ya one.”

“Don’t mention it,” comes Ukitake Jūshirō’s voice, a little softer than Shunsui remembers it being before.

It’s only after Kiyoshi has gone and the doors have closed that Shunsui notices the surge of spiritual pressure to his left. Ukitake Jūshirō has his eyes closed and his brow furrowed, and his back is pressed up against the wall of the barracks. His arms are crossed over his chest, which expands and contracts slowly as he takes a series of very measured breaths. Shunsui considers him carefully. _I coulda sworn he was stone-cold sober, but maybe I was wrong._ “Hey,” tries Shunsui. “You okay?”

Ukitake Jūshirō’s eyes flicker open. “Oh, yes,” he says, his voice still soft. _Another surge of spiritual pressure,_ notices Shunsui. _Weird. Dude looks totally winded, but his reiatsu…_ “I just – I get a little tired, sometimes. That’s all.” A trace of that earnest smile from before crosses his features again. “You know, if you want to go back to the party, you’re more than welcome – ”

“No, no. That’s all right,” says Shunsui, lounging up against the wall a foot or two away from the other man. “I’ll hang out here until you get your zip back.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Ukitake Jūshirō says, “but it’s really not necessary. And… well, to be frank, it might take a while.”

“Eh.” Shunsui scratches his scruffy head. “That’s fine by me, actually. Like I said before, I’m kinda partied-out. I’d be happy to stay here.” And, to his mild surprise, Shunsui finds that means every word of it.

“Mmm,” is all Ukitake Jūshirō says in reply – but the sound is so faint that Shunsui has to ask himself whether he heard anything at all. Those green eyes are closed again. _Man. Who is this guy?_ Shunsui can’t help but wonder, and he can’t help but stare a little, too. Ukitake Jūshirō’s spiritual pressure is, just as Shunsui’s table mate had said, insane. Shunsui feels it pulsing, enormous and tremendously well-controlled – it might be the strongest spiritual pressure that Shunsui has ever encountered in a student. But…

_But look at him,_ thinks Shunsui. _He sure doesn’t LOOK like a guy with spiritual pressure like that._ In fact, Shunsui decides, he looks more like a guy who might fall over if a strong breeze came along at the wrong moment. He’s tall enough, but, despite the distinct cords of muscle that Shunsui can pick out on the man’s neck and upper torso, it’s clear that he’s a pretty skinny fellow overall. Dark circles hang beneath his tight-shut eyes. His face looks young, but Shunsui reads upon it the beginnings of both laugh lines and worry lines in very equal measure.

_He’s.._. Shunsui’s jaw drops just a little. Maybe it’s the sake talking, but – _Oh. God. He’s… kinda handsome. Isn’t he?_

 “Is something the matter?” Ukitake Jūshirō, eyes open again now, cocks his head to the side, a slightly concerned expression coming over his face. “I – sorry, I didn’t mean to be intrusive, but your – your spiritual pressure just now, it – ”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Somehow, in that dim light, Shunsui’s eyes lock onto Ukitake Jūshirō’s again. “How… uh, how about you, Ukitake-san? Not gonna lie, man, you – uh – you seemed pretty out of it for a minute or two.”

“Ah…” Ukitake Jūshirō hesitates. “I think… I think it might be best if I retired for the evening.” He starts to stand up straight, but as he does, he sways ever so slightly on his feet – he keeps one hand to the wall, steadying himself. The other, he presses to his chest.

Shunsui watches him warily. “Which barracks do you live in?”

 “It’s not far from here. Just a few blocks north.”

“Great,” Shunsui says. “Perfect. C’mon, Ukitake-san. I’ll walk you home.”

“Are you sure? You’ve already missed a lot of the party – don’t you want to – ”

“I already told ya, I don’t have any interest in going back there tonight. And what’s more,” he adds pointedly, “you look like you could use a little help walking straight. Am I right?”

Shunsui sees a spark in those green eyes that make him think Ukitake Jūshirō might protest further – but in the end, he only says, “All right, Kyōraku-san. And… thank you.”

 

***

 

The first block is easy. All things considered, so is the second. Ukitake Jūshirō leans heavily on Shunsui as they walk. When they reach the third block, Shunsui feels his companion’s steps slow, and slow, and _slow_ , and then, after a moment, stop altogether. Ukitake Jūshirō breathes through gritted teeth, and his head hangs straight down – just as it was back in the garden, Shunsui cannot see his face through that white hair.

“Hey,” says Shunsui. “You got this. You’re almost home, okay?”

Ukitake Jūshirō says nothing.

“Look, man, I feel ya. I’ve been there. That last cup of sake can creep up on you mighty quick – ”

“I’m… not... drunk…” says Ukitake Jūshirō, raising his head slowly.

“Of _course_ you’re not, pal. You’re just – ”

“Kyōraku-san. I’m _not_.”

Shunsui turns to face him. Ukitake Jūshirō’s countenance is set, determined, willful. _Whoa. I think… I think he might be telling the truth._ “All right,” Shunsui says slowly. “I believe you. But then, I have to ask… what, uh, exactly do you – ”

Ukitake Jūshirō’s spiritual pressure surges again. “Let’s keep going,” he says. “Like you said – I’m almost home.” When Shunsui only stares in response, he adds, “…please?”

“Okay,” says Shunsui. “Right. Okay.”

It happens two blocks after that. One moment, Ukitake Jūshirō and Shunsui are walking, step by deliberate step, through the streets, and the next, Shunsui feels his arm pulled downwards, yanked abruptly by a considerable weight. Shunsui’s head whips around. Just like that, Ukitake Jūshirō hits the ground. His limbs shudder. His entire frame shakes. And it seems to Shunsui, who can only stand and watch, paralyzed, that for an instant, Ukitake Jūshirō does not breathe – _no_ , realizes Shunsui, alarmed, _he CAN’T breathe. What – what’s happening? What can I do?_ he asks himself desperately. _Can I do anything?_ Unthinking, Shunsui kneels and seizes Ukitake Jūshirō’s hands, believing, ridiculously, that the contact might help somehow –

And then, the terrifying moment passes. Jūshirō gives a small cough, and he sighs, the tension gone from his body. His breaths are short, fast, jagged little things. His eyelids flutter, and then open. He glances at Shunsui, then at the ground, and then at his hands, to which Shunsui still clings with all his might. “Oh, dear,” Ukitake Jūshirō whispers between gasps, registering what has happened.

Shunsui stares intently into Jūshirō’s face – he could swear that the man is _blushing_ , of all things. “What the – what _the_ – ” splutters Shunsui, “ _dude._ Are – are you okay?” _Well, THAT’s a stupid question, Shunsui. CLEARLY he’s not –_ “You scared me, man. What _was_ that?”

“It’s complicated,” comes Ukitake Jūshirō’s quiet reply.

“I should think so,” Shunsui says. “Look, I’m sure it’s none of my business, but explain something to me, will ya? How do you get away with having such crazy spiritual pressure, and then pulling a stunt like that – huh? ’Cause, by the way, I _know_ you have crazy spiritual pressure. It’s obvious.”

“It’s _complicated_ ,” repeats Ukitake Jūshirō. “You shouldn’t worry about it, Kyōraku-san.”

“Oh, yeah?” says Shunsui. “Well, I _am_ worried about it.  And I – I’m probably gonna stay worried whether you want me to or not, to be honest.”

But Ukitake Jūshirō shakes his head. “You _shouldn’t_ ,” he insists. He breaks contact with Shunsui’s hands and, with an effort, pushes himself into a seated position. “You… Kyōraku-san, I apologize,” he says, green eyes cast downwards. “I… this… this wasn’t supposed to happen tonight – ”

“Is it ever?” Shunsui cuts in.

“That’s not what I _meant_ ,” Ukitake Jūshirō says emphatically. “I meant…that you – you didn’t need to see this. To concern yourself with… with this – ”

“And what _is_ ‘this,’ exactly, Ukitake-san? You make it sound like this happens to you all the time.”

Ukitake Jūshirō’s blush deepens. “It… does. Actually.”

“Oh.”

Shunsui has nothing tactful to say to that.

After a moment, Ukitake Jūshirō says, “I think you should go.” Shunsui gapes at him. “You’ve done more than enough, Kyōraku-san,” he continues. “You certainly don’t need to – ”

“No freakin’ _way_ ,” Shunsui says flatly. “No. No _way_ am I gonna just leave you in the middle of the street.”

“Kyōraku-san,” Ukitake Jūshirō tries again, “listen. I appreciate your willingness to stay here, but I simply can’t ask you to – ”

“Then don’t _ask_.” Now it’s Ukitake Jūshirō who gapes. “You don’t need to _ask_. Whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re home safe, okay? What kind of person would I be if I just walked away, huh?”

“I – Kyōraku-san, you've only just met me. You don’t need to – ”

“Yes. I do.” And as Shunsui stares into that earnest face framed by locks of pure white hair, he realizes just how true it is. _I… I don’t think I could leave this man right now if I tried._

Ukitake Jūshirō stares back. “All right,” he finally concedes, his voice low. “…thank you. Again. Kyōraku-san.”

A few silent minutes pass. Shunsui takes in the muted colors of the Seireitei at night – _blue,_ he thinks, _lots of blue._ Even Ukitake Jūshirō’s white hair shines vaguely blue in the glow of the moonlight. Shunsui wants to say something to him, to this oddly magnetic man he’s just met – but what? Words of reassurance don’t seem appropriate, somehow; Shunsui is fairly certain that he’s more shaken up by this incident than Ukitake Jūshirō is. So… _what_ , then? Shunsui thinks furiously. Then he remembers the last thing that Ukitake Jūshirō said…

_“Thank you. Again. Kyōraku-san.”_

...and Shunsui has an idea.

“Y’know,” begins Shunsui, piecing his thoughts together as he speaks, “you, uh – you can use my given name if you want to.” Ukitake Jūshirō blinks. Before he can respond, Shunsui continues, “The Academy can be so stuffy sometimes, don’t’cha think? We’re both students, after all – both of the same rank. There’s no need for honorifics in a casual setting like this.” Shunsui could swear he sees the blush in those pale cheeks deepen even further. “Um. In – in my opinion.”

Shunsui feels Ukitake Jūshirō’s spiritual pressure spike. “Ah – are you – are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure,” Shunsui says. “I’ve never really been one for formality. Go on, give it a shot.”

Ukitake Jūshirō pauses for the briefest of instants. Then – “All right… Shunsui.”

Inexplicably, something inside Shunsui melts just a little bit.

“Ah. Well, then,” Ukitake Jūshirō continues, “I… suppose that means that you can call me Jūshirō, too. If – if you’d like.”

Shunsui feels a smile come over his face. “Jūshirō,” he says.

“Oh – ” Ukitake Jūshirō says suddenly, sliding a bit closer to Shunsui, “I – ah. One thing first. It’s – it’s probably silly, but if you’re going to use my given name, I… I’d like you to know how to write it. Properly. If you don’t mind terribly much.”

“No,” says Shunsui, “not at all.”

“Are – are you right- or left-handed?”

_What an unexpected question._ “…uh. Ambidextrous, actually.”

And the next thing he knows, Ukitake Jūshirō – _no_ , he corrects, _it’s just Jūshirō now, isn’t it?_ – has taken Shunsui’s right hand in his own, long fingers wrapping delicately around his wrist.

“Here,” says Jūshirō softly, guiding Shunsui’s hand through the air. “I… I didn’t mean to be rude before. When you asked about my name. Of course, you’d think that my parents named me ‘Jūshirō’ because of my…” he trails off. “Well. _This_ ,” he says, “is the character for the _shirō_ you’re thinking of.” He moves their hands together, and Shunsui lets Jūshirō lead him through the familiar strokes. He already knows how to write this _shirō_ , of course – but it does not occur to him, not even for a second, to stop the movement. “And _this_ ,” continues Jūshirō, his voice shaking just a little, “this is my _shirō._ It’s two characters, actually,” he adds.

Shunsui does not know what to do when the moment ends. Jūshirō still gently holds his wrist. _Is this… am I… what’s happening here, exactly?_ Shunsui can only suck in the cool night air and hope that it settles him somewhat – he’s sure that Jūshirō must sense that something’s amiss, whether from the heat of Shunsui’s skin or from the inevitable erratic behavior of Shunsui’s reiatsu. His head swims; his heart pounds. Finally, after what feels like a very long time, Shunsui does the only think he can think of. “My turn now,” he mumbles, praying he doesn’t seem awkward, and he wraps his fingers around Jūshirō’s wrist instead.

He moves Jūshirō’s hand through the motions of five characters. After the second, he hears Jūshirō laugh, and really, he’s not surprised – it’s pretty obvious what the word is going to be. Even so, Jūshirō politely waits until the word is finished to say, “ _Arigatō.”_ Jūshirō laughs again. “You’re welcome, Shunsui,” he says.

Shunsui looks sidelong at Jūshirō, watching that smile play about his kindly features. “You – uh. You feeling better?”

“Mmm,” says Jūshirō, the smile fading slightly. “Yes. Yes, a bit.” He glances at Shunsui. “Well enough to walk home, I think. If that’s what you were asking.” He averts his eyes briefly. “If… that is. If you’re still willing to walk with me. I… I know I’ll need the help.”

_That… that was hard for him to say_ , Shunsui realizes. _Oh, god. He’s embarrassed, isn’t he?_ “Hey,” he says. When Jūshirō’s eyes stay downwards, he says again, “ _Hey._ ” Jūshirō looks up. “Of course I’ll help you, Jūshirō. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m sure you feel like it’s an imposition or whatever, but – I’ve gotcha, okay?”

“You’re sure?”

“Shut up,” says Shunsui. “’Course I’m sure, Jūshirō. Come on.” In one swift motion, he hoists Jūshirō into a standing position. Jūshirō tips forward, both arms flung around Shunsui’s neck, and he lets out a weak, little groan as his head sinks to rest on Shunsui’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, man,” Shunsui reassures him. “You said it’s not far, right?”

“Right,” manages Jūshirō.

“Right. Like I said, I’ve gotcha. One step at a time, okay?” Jūshirō nods, and fixes his eyes straight ahead. His spiritual pressure surges once more. He says nothing – saving his strength for the walk, Shunsui has no doubt. “Okay, Jūshirō. Let’s do this thing. In three… two…”

 

***

 

Finally, finally, they arrive. When they do, Jūshirō lets his hand slide from Shunsui’s shoulder, and he staggers the few steps to the door.

Then, he turns. “Shunsui,” he says.

“…yes?”

“You’re… you’ve been…” he stops.

“It’s nothing, man. Really.”

“No, it isn’t. I mean it, Shunsui. You’re – truly – ” and he stops again. “I think… I think that any man who counts you among his friends is very, _very_ lucky to do so.”

_Wow. That’s a first._ “I dunno,” Shunsui says. “You… you don’t know me, Jūshirō – ”

“I – I think I’d _like_ to.”

“ – ’cuz, I promise, I’m much more disappointing once you get to know me – wait, what?”

“I. Ah. I’d like to. Get to know you, Shunsui.”

Shunsui feels his heartbeat pick up speed. “I… ah…” _What the hell?_

“Listen,” says Jūshirō. “You – ah. You haven’t exactly seen me at my best tonight. You haven’t seen me at my worst either, so I suppose that’s something, but – I. Well. I wouldn’t mind a second chance to make a first impression.”

“You’ve made a fine first impression,” Shunsui stammers.

“No. It’s kind of you to pretend, but no. I haven’t.”

“You’ve been just freakin’ _fine_ ,” says Shunsui. “And – well – you didn’t have to do a damn thing. I wanted to get to know you the second I saw you back in the garden.”

Jūshirō’s green eyes grow wide. “…really?”

“I mean, at first, it was your spiritual pressure.”

“Hang on – _really?”_

“Yeah. Not to be the absolute worst, but I kinda figured any guy with spiritual pressure like yours was worth knowing.”

“No, no, that’s okay – I was going to say the same about you.”

Shunsui raises an eyebrow. “…you were?”

Jūshirō nods. “Your spiritual pressure is incredible, Shunsui.”

“Ha.” Shunsui shakes his head. “Nice try. But yours knocks mine outta the park, no question.”

“I don’t think so,” Jūshirō says, and Shunsui sees that he’s serious.

“Huh.”

“Do you have shikai?”

“Huh?”

“Shikai,” Jūshirō repeats. “You have shikai, don’t you?”

“I…” Shunsui is pretty sure he can see where this is going, but he’s not sure how he feels about it. “Yeah, I do. What – what are you gettin’ at, Jūshirō?”

“Well. I want to get to know you better. And you, for some convoluted reason, seem to think my spiritual pressure is more impressive than yours. Suppose… suppose we trained together sometime?”

Shunsui bites his lip, very, very uncertain. “Jūshirō,” he says, “I think it’s a swell idea – in theory. But – you’re asking about training together using shikai, right?” Jūshirō nods. “Look, man. I…” _You what, Shunsui? Are you about to tell him about your freaky shikai? Really?_

“I see,” says Jūshirō. “I understand. It’s all right, Shunsui – I probably wouldn’t want to fight someone like me in a training context either, given the choice. I just – ” He closes those green eyes for a moment. “I thought I’d ask. I – thought you might be different.” He turns away, and moves to open the door. “Thanks again,” he says over his shoulder. “Good night, Shunsui.”

“No – Jūshirō!” Shunsui rushes forward and lays a hand on his shoulder. Jūshirō lurches, almost falls – Shunsui catches him, supporting him from behind with his strong arms. Shunsui feels Jūshirō trembling slightly against him. “Jūshirō,” he says, quietly. “No. It isn’t that. It isn’t that at all.”

Jūshirō looks up at him, the question written clearly upon his face. “It isn’t?” He seems shocked. “Then… then what?”

“Honestly? It’s – my shikai.”

“Your shikai?”

“It’s – it’s _weird_ , man. I wasn’t kidding when I said that getting to know me wasn’t a whole lot of fun.”

“Oh.” Jūshirō keeps his eyes trained on Shunsui’s. They soften, and Jūshirō smiles. “Well, that’s all right,” he says. “A – um – _weird_ shikai will probably help me train better than a conventional one, anyway.”

“You say that now,” Shunsui says. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“Well, then.” Jūshirō inhales sharply and stands on his own, turning once again to face Shunsui. “I’ll just have to find out. Won’t I?”

Shunsui swallows. “You sure?”

Jūshirō’s smile grows. “As you might say, ‘sure, I’m sure,’” he says. “And, I must confess, Kyōraku Shunsui, that I am also more than a little bit intrigued. So – sometime next week, perhaps?”

“A-all right.”

“Good. I’ll – I’ll send you a message soon.”

“I – I look forward to it.”

“As do I.”

They stand for a long moment in the darkness, facing each other, neither of them speaking. Then, Jūshirō opens the door and, after a final glance over his shoulder, he disappears into the barracks. The last thing Shunsui sees before he vanishes entirely is that flash of white hair.

The barracks in which Shunsui lives are nearby, but it takes him a long time to meander his way home. The blue Seireitei provides an appropriate and echoing stage for his wandering footsteps and wandering thoughts. He flexes the fingers of his right hand over and over and over, and he, surprising himself, fancies that he can still feel Jūshirō’s hand wrapped tenderly around his wrist.

_What a strange man_ , thinks Shunsui, gazing upwards now. He raises his right hand to the sky and stares at it. It is silhouetted against the moon, which glows bright white now, instead of its former orange.

_White_.

_Jūshirō_ …

It is then that Shunsui realizes that he’s forgotten how to write Jūshirō’s name. _Damn_. It angers him that he can’t remember. _It seemed important to him, too_.

Still looking at the sky, Shunsui wraps his left hand around his right wrist and begins to guide his own right hand through the air. _‘Shi…’_ he thinks, _‘shi...’ like the number four. Yes. But the ‘rō…’_ he makes one clumsy stroke, and then another – but he knows it’s wrong. He can’t remember. He can’t. He simply can’t.

And what’s more, he can’t un-see that first _shirō_  - the _shirō_ that means _white_.

When Shunsui finally lays down to sleep that night, feet a little bit tired and mind reeling, he is still thinking of Jūshirō. _I hope he still wants to be my friend after he sees my shikai_ , is Shunsui’s last dim thought before he slips into sleep.

And that night, Shunsui dreams.

Yes, splashes of violet taunt his dreams. And yes, splashes of crimson stain them. But that night, for once, Shunsui ignores all of the colors swirling in his head – all, that is, save for flecks of playful, intelligent green which seem to linger on the periphery of his slumber.

In his fitful sleep, Shunsui smiles.

Because that night, his dreams are

_white_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and I thought writing about Shunsui and Jūshirō hangin' out on a mountain that one time was hard.  
>  Wowsa.  
> This is an idea I've been playing with (no pun intended... mostly...) for a while now. I don't want to say too much about it here - I'd rather save it for the actual story, after all - but I do want to say that this story got a little bigger than I anticipated it getting. I didn't exactly mean to draft a beginning to Shunsui's and Jūshirō's relationship - but it just... kinda... happened. I'm not sure that they're meeting happened exactly like this, of course, and in fact, I'd like to think that the two of them might have met under slightly less mundane circumstances... but. Anyway. This first part was really just supposed to be setup, and it kinda evolved into something much more substantial.  
> So... stay tuned? Because the next two installments are the main bits of the story. Or, they're meant to be, anyway.  
> Should also say - I know that not a whole lot happened in this chapter in the way of... eh, actual romance? Physical or otherwise? But. Never fear. That, too, is what the next installments are for.  
> Oh - and, of course, thanks for reading :)


	2. Interlude: Golden

The morning light streams through the barracks window, golden and gentle. Ukitake Jūshirō feels the warmth on his face. He savors it, a tiny smile tugging at his lips, before opening his eyes. Blearily, Jūshirō weighs his options. He has two, the way he sees it – he could kick off his blankets and wake up like the responsible, hardworking student he strives to be, or he could bask for a few glorious moments more in the sleepy sunlight.

 _Ah, what’s a couple minutes?_ Jūshirō reasons. He rolls onto his side and buries his face a little deeper into his pillow. He feels good this morning. He feels _amazing_ , actually. He feels comfortable, happy, and strong – all at the same time. _And that never happens,_ he thinks to himself. _Well. “Never” is too hard a word, I suppose. Still, it doesn’t happen as often as I’d like._

As Jūshirō lays snug beneath the covers, his thoughts stray to the night before. _That first-year. Kyōraku Shunsui. Dear me, but he was a bizarre fellow._ Bizarre for several reasons, too. To start, of course, there was his spiritual pressure to consider. Jūshirō had known from the second he and Shunsui had locked eyes in the garden that this breezy student with his lackadaisical airs was more, _much_ more, than he made himself out to be. The way his spiritual pressure pitched and swelled and twisted and meandered had seemed random and disorganized at first, but as the night wore on, Jūshirō began to recognize Shunsui’s spiritual pressure for what it was – a series of extraordinarily intricate patterns, each of which Shunsui seemed to piece together unconsciously and with ease. _That_ , Jūshirō remembers thinking, awe-struck, as he and Shunsui sat together in the middle of the darkened Seireitei, _is power._

Spiritual pressure aside, though, the man was still quite odd. _Distracted_ , Jūshirō decides, _he seemed… distracted by something. A bit caught up in his head._ But Jūshirō can hardly fault him for that. _He was kind to me. Very kind. Kinder than he needed to be._ Shunsui had refused to leave Jūshirō, hadn’t even once considered returning to the party – and Jūshirō must have told Shunsui to do so at least three times, if not more. In fairness, much of that had been selfishness on Jūshirō’s part. _If Shunsui had left me earlier, he wouldn’t have seen… wouldn’t have seen me like… like that._ Which isn’t to say that Jūshirō isn’t grateful; he is, and incredibly so. A small part of Jūshirō knows that he likely wouldn’t have made it home without Shunsui’s assistance.

But that only makes it worse.

Jūshirō sighs heavily, sits up, and pushes away his blankets. The air in the room is cooler than he realized, and he hugs himself, suddenly chilled.

_I actually thought I might be able to make a friend who wouldn’t see me as a burden. Silly, really._

_But then…_

Jūshirō frowns, thinking back to his and Shunsui’s parting words. After Jūshirō had suggested they train together, Shunsui hadn’t said a single thing about Jūshirō’s health. _No_ , realizes Jūshirō, _no, that was me, wasn’t it? I’m the one who jumped to that conclusion, aren’t I?_ The only worry that Shunsui had expressed had been about his shikai.

And more importantly, Shunsui had said yes. Shunsui had actually agreed to train with him.

That’s never happened to Jūshirō before.

But a small voice in the back of Jūshirō’s head still pesters him. _You’re going to have another fit in front of him if you make him a friend, you know_ , it says. _He may not see you as a burden now, but if you make him a friend, he soon will._

“No,” Jūshirō says aloud. A burst of energy fills him, and he stands and stretches tall. “That kind of thinking will get you nowhere, Jūshirō. You know that. And besides,” he concludes, lowering his arms and crossing to the teapot that sits in the corner of the room, “there’s no way to know for sure, now, is there?”

After Jūshirō finishes preparing his tea, he sits cross-legged in front of the window, cradling the warm cup in his cold hands. “No,” he says again, more quietly this time, “there’s no way to know for sure.” Shunsui, Jūshirō feels certain, is different from the others. Jūshirō can’t say precisely how, or why, but he feels certain nonetheless. _I collapsed in the street, and in response, he –_ and Jūshirō can’t help but laugh, because it’s so terribly absurd. _He asked me to use his given name! That’s all he did!_ Shunsui had seemed worried at first, of course. That, as far as Jūshirō is concerned, had only been natural. But after it became clear that Jūshirō was in no imminent danger, Shunsui had let the whole matter drop. He’d asked his questions, and after accepting Jūshirō’s answers, vague though they were, he’d simply begun to talk about names. As though nothing had happened. As though chatting late at night while seated upon the cobblestones of the Seireitei was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Jūshirō feels another small smile cross his face as he sips at his tea. _Shunsui let me show him how to write my “shirō,” too. That was very nice of him._

When the tea is gone, Jūshirō rises and moves to open the window. A faint breeze sweeps into the room, blowing Jūshirō’s white hair away from his face. He scans the courtyard of the student barracks with his keen, green eyes, unsurprised to find it empty at this time of morning, save for the few small creatures – birds, squirrels, a few rabbits – that call it home. Before long, Jūshirō finds what he’s looking for. He extends one thin forefinger, and he waits. The butterfly flits towards Jūshirō and perches atop his finger, black wings gleaming and resplendent in the sunlight. Its miniscule legs tickle Jūshirō’s skin. Gently, Jūshirō brings his finger towards his lips. “For…” he says, and he feels his smile grow, “for Kyōraku Shunsui.” Jūshirō whispers his message to the butterfly, and begins to let it go – but then stops, an idea striking him. “Oh – ” he calls to the butterfly, which hovers just outside his window, “sorry! Just -  just one more word, please.” And he whispers that to the butterfly, too.

Jūshirō closes the window and leans against the wall, slightly unsure of how to cope with this unexpectedly euphoric daze in which he finds himself. Classes won’t resume until the following day, and in honor of yesterday’s celebration, none of the teachers have given the first-year students any assignments. How strange it is, Jūshirō reflects, to have nothing to do. Eventually, he picks a well-worn collection of fairy tales from his bookshelf, tucks it under his arm, and takes it to his favorite shady spot next to the koi pond in the courtyard to read.

Jūshirō knows the stories well, and they’ve proved a source of both amusement and leisure in the past. But today, Jūshirō cannot focus. He finds himself reading the same sentence over and over and making no sense whatsoever of the words. He can’t keep his mind from wandering. In the end, he closes the book, flips over to lay his stomach, and gazes mindlessly into the depths of the koi pond, watching the brightly colored little fish dart around with a fierce and admirable agility.

_Kind of like Shunsui’s reiatsu…_

The thought springs unbidden to Jūshirō’s mind. That silly smile slaps itself onto his pale face once more, and Jūshirō laughs and laughs and laughs, quietly as he can manage, to himself. He’s not sure why, but he can’t help it. And who is he to complain? He feels better today than he has in a long, long time.

Jūshirō stays there for the rest of the morning, mesmerized by the fish and grinning like a fool.

And all the while, he thinks of Shunsui.

 

***

 

When Shunsui wakes up, there’s a butterfly on his face.

“Blargh – _argh!_ ” he splutters, swiping at the damn thing with floppy, graceless hands until it flits a foot or so away from him and hovers (a little standoffishly in Shunsui’s opinion) at the end of his sleeping mat. “Jeez,” groans Shunsui, “you couldn’t warn a guy before you do that, could ya?”

The butterfly only bats its wings in reply.

Shunsui, dead-eyed, does his best to stare it down. “I didn’t think so,” he grumbles. “All right, pal. Whaddya got for me?”

The butterfly floats a bit closer. Shunsui turns one of his ears in its general direction. At first, he only hears a faint crackling, and he wonders if it’s a mistake – _That stupid butterfly better not have woken me up for no reason,_ Shunsui thinks – but then he hears a voice. It’s a voice which, by rights, shouldn’t be very familiar to him, but Shunsui recognizes it instantly.

Just as he did in his white-tinted sleep, Shunsui smiles.

 _“Um,”_ the voice begins. _“H-hi! Good morning! If it’s still morning by the time you get this, that is. If not, um – good – afternoon? Or – evening? It probably won’t be evening, I suppose, but – well. Anyway. Um. Hi! Hi, Shunsui!”_

Shunsui leans forward and rests his bristly chin on top of his hands. It feels surprisingly good to hear his name said like that. Even if it is coming from that lousy butterfly.

 _“I hope you don’t mind my being a little serious first,”_ continues the voice. _“I know I thanked you last night for staying with me, and for making sure I got home all right, but – I’m afraid that no words will ever be able to express what a kind thing to do that was. I – um. I think that... e-even if I still know you a hundred years from now, I... I’ll still be grateful for last night. I – I really will. I'm sure that, right now, you’re probably shaking your head and saying to yourself that I’m exaggerating – ”_

 _– Uncanny_ , thinks Shunsui, who stops shaking his head immediately –

_“– but – um. I mean it. You didn’t have to do that Shunsui, not any of it. But you did anyway. So – so, thanks.”_

A slight pause. Shunsui watches the butterfly hover in front of him; he finds it considerably less annoying now, somehow.

_“But. Um. All – all of that aside, I really wanted to ask when you might be free to train. I-if you still want to, of course. I have time on Tuesday afternoons, if – uh – if that works for you. And – and if not, then Wednesday mornings are also good. And if not, then – um – let me know, I suppose, and, ah - and we can sort something else out. Because I do very much want to see this – um – ”_

– Shunsui could swear he hears Jūshirō give a small chuckle –

 _“– this weird shikai of yours.”_ A slight pause again. _“Also, your spiritual pressure is totally stronger than mine. Guarantee. So – so there.”_

“Heh. Doubt it,” Shunsui murmurs, half to himself. “Only one way to find out, green-eyed boy.”

_“Anyway. Sorry this got so long. I hope you have a really lovely day, Shunsui. And I hope to hear from you soon!”_

Shunsui figures that must be the end, and he’s about to beckon the butterfly closer – but then the voice starts up again. _“Oh, sorry!”_ it says. It sounds a little far away. _“Just -  just one more word, please.”_

Shunsui purses his lips. _I wonder…_

_“Arigatō!”_

And with that, Shunsui knows the message is over. He leans back on his sleeping mat, thinking through his schedule. _Tuesday,_ he muses, _Tuesday, Tuesday… what the heck do I have goin’ on on Tuesday?_ He scowls. He probably has it written down somewhere, and strictly speaking, he could get up and check…

 _But that would require work on my part, wouldn’t it?_ Shunsui sits up again, decision made. Anything else he might have planned for Tuesday afternoon can wait.

Shunsui gives the butterfly a coy come-hither finger, and it flits towards him, poised at the ready. “Hey, pal,” he says. “Sorry I was such a dick before. I’m not really a morning person.”

Just like before, the butterfly only bats its wings. Shunsui chooses to interpret this as a sign of forgiveness. “Wanna do me a solid and send a message back? This one’s for Ukitake Jūshirō. The guy you came from. Okay?”

Unsurprisingly, the butterfly’s wings just keep on batting away. “Okay,” says Shunsui. “I’m – I’m just gonna assume you’re ready for me, little buddy. Here goes.” He feels strangely nervous. _It’s just a message, Shunsui. Jeez. How bad could it be?_

Shunsui takes a deep breath.

“Uh.”

_Great start, Shunsui. Come ON, man! You got this! Just - try again._

“Uh. H-hey there, Jūshirō! Uh. First – uh – first thing’s first, I guess! Tuesday afternoon sounds just fine to me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that got a wee bit fluffy. Whoops.  
> That said, for better or for worse, I think this little ol' fic might end up being a bit longer than I planned. I tried to start writing the second part proper, but somewhere in there, I realized that my two main Bleach boys had more to say - but it was stuff that didn't exactly contribute to the "plot," such as it is, of the fic. Hence... this. And hence the reason I'm calling it an "interlude."  
> So! Sorry if the update wasn't quite as chapter-y as y'all might have expected. If that gets ya down, just picture Jūshirō snuggling up under his covers or Shunsui with a butterfly on his face. Because, apparently, my brain decided that both of those images needed to happen.  
> Also, turns out there's not a whole lot of information available about Shinigami Academy student housing. Go figure. So, I just kinda decided that everyone gets to have their own little room. For... reasons.  
> Anyway. Enjoy, y'all! And - (oh god I am officially the worst) - arigatō!


	3. Grey and Green

Tuesday dawns, hot and bright and beautiful. Shunsui fidgets impatiently all through the morning’s tactics lesson. He’s never exactly enjoyed tactics class, a dry, old subject taught by a dry, old Shinigami with a voice that grates like dry, old sandpaper, but today, sitting in the stuffy classroom isn’t just boring – it’s straight-up torture.

To keep himself from jumping out of his skin as the instructor drones on and on, Shunsui crafts a little exercise. _I think he’s going to end the lecture after… this sentence_ , Shunsui decides.

He’s not really surprised when he’s wrong.

 _Okay… this sentence,_ he thinks, about thirty seconds later.

He’s not really surprised when he’s wrong again.

_Fine. THIS sentence. It’s gotta be this sentence, right?_

But – he’s wrong again.

It goes on like that for a while.

All told, Shunsui expresses variations on that same sentiment to himself about five thousand times. So, it is with extraordinary relief and absolute elation that Shunsui finally – _Finally! Jeez!_ – leaps up from his seat after the dusty instructor closes his books and announces that he’s concluded the lecture. _I’m free!_ Shunsui thinks, bursting through the heavy double doors and into the bright sunlight. He squints upwards, and figures it must be about noon. _Good. I have a little time._

One of his classmates calls to him. “Yo, Shunsui – we’re gonna take a stroll and grab some lunch! Wanna come?”

“Huh?” Shunsui glances over his shoulder, then squints upwards again. “Uh – nah, I’m all right. I have a – a sort of meeting in a little bit.”

“What time?” his classmate asks.

“Uh. Two.”

“Two? We’ll be done with lunch by two, ya idiot – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know – I just – I gotta get ready first.”

“Shunsui? Making preparations?” another student interjects. “That’s a little outta character, don’t’cha think?”

“Eh. I guess,” concedes Shunsui “Look, I – ”

“C’mon, man,” says the first student. “They’re running a two-for-one special at this little joint I know a few streets over. And the sake there is real cheap, too – ”

“Thanks. ’preciate it, but I’m good today. Really.”

“Making preparations _and_ refusing sake? Must be one hell of a meeting,” the second student says.

By now, Shunsui’s had enough. “Sorry, guys,” he says, and starts making fast, definitive strides away from his classmates. “We’ll catch up some other time, ’kay?”

“…’kay,” Shunsui hears the first student say behind him. “Have… fun, I guess?”

Shunsui doesn’t bother responding to that. He squints upwards for a third time. He swallows, hard. His friends’ words echo around inside his head. _“One hell of a meeting,”_ he thinks to himself. _“Outta character.” Huh._ Shunsui grimaces. _Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe._

He makes it back to his room in about ten minutes. When he arrives, he slides the door closed behind him and leans against it. Shunsui feels a little jittery. _I’m nervous_ , he realizes. _I shouldn’t be nervous, but I’m nervous. Why the hell am I nervous?_ Shunsui has sparred with classmates countless times, and he’s never been nervous beforehand. Something, Shunsui reasons, must be different about today. _You’ve never sparred with Jūshirō_ , comes Shunsui’s thought. _That’s something different, isn’t it?_ But surely it’s not that. Surely Jūshirō, kindly, soft-spoken Jūshirō, isn’t the cause of Shunsui’s nervousness. Even considering Jūshirō’s immense spiritual pressure and seeming eagerness to fight with shikai, it couldn’t be because of him. It simply couldn’t.

…could it?

Shunsui scans the room, and before long, his steely grey eyes light upon Katen Kyōkotsu, the two swords resting nonchalantly against the wall where he left them yesterday. _It’s your fault, you creepy fucker, you,_ he thinks in their general direction. _You’re the reason I’m nervous._ But Katen Kyōkotsu seems intent on ignoring him for the time being – which, if Shunsui is honest, is completely fine by him. He crosses the room and fixes his zanpakuto to his waist, making sure the ties are secure. _I… I think that’s all I need, right? Right._

Next, Shunsui slips into the men’s room. He relieves himself, and then, as he scrubs his hands clean, letting the clear water course over his skin for longer than he really needs to, he catches himself staring in the mirror. Shunsui knows what he looks like, of course. He’s in excellent physical condition, obviously, and he’s never really been the self-conscious type, but he’s never exactly thought of himself as good-looking. He has a certain cocky charm that he can turn on when he wants to, he knows, and he learned long ago that a big, goofy smile can work wonders for even the most hard-favored of faces. But good-looking? The grey eyes that stare back at Shunsui out of the mirror glint with something like mockery _. Even if you shaved your goddamn face and donned the finest silks in the Seireitei, you’d only be pretending_ , they seem to say. _You’re a plain-looking bastard with a shriveled-up heart and a freaky shikai and no sense of direction, Kyōraku Shunsui. And good fucking luck convincing yourself otherwise._

Shunsui turns off the faucet. _Maybe so,_ he thinks. _But you know what? Nobody has to know that. Nobody._ He meets the cold gaze in the mirror for one more second before he turns away.

 _That’s my secret,_ he decides as he emerges once more into the sunlit street. _My secret. Pretending has worked mighty well for me so far, hasn’t it? So, who knows? Maybe I don’t need looks. Maybe I don’t need direction._

_Maybe I’ll just keep right on pretending forever._

_And good fucking luck to YOU, convincing me that I can’t._

 

***

 

At the same time, just a few blocks away, a different pair of eyes gazes into a different mirror. These eyes are green, and they shine good-naturedly as their owner sizes up his reflection.

 _Well,_ Ukitake Jūshirō thinks. _That’s about as impressive as it gets, I suppose._

He means it, too. Jūshirō’s feeling of strength has persisted these past two days. There’s a flush of life in his cheeks that he isn’t accustomed to seeing, and he can’t help but think that it compliments his features rather nicely. _I look healthy,_ he thinks. _For once! Ha-ha! I… don’t look half-bad, now, do I?_

Jūshirō smiles at the mirror. Not long from now, he’ll be sparring with a fr – he stops. _Is “friend” the right word to use yet?_ he wonders. _You’ve only met this Shunsui, this call-me-by-my-given-name-and-I-have-a-weird-shikai-and-your-spiritual-pressure-is-bigger-than-mine Shunsui, one time._ But Jūshirō shakes his white head, denying the idea. _No,_ he thinks, less than a second later, _no. Shunsui helped you walk when you could barely stand on your own. And Shunsui agreed to spar with you using shikai. And Shunsui went back and forth with you nine times the other day, using that hell butterfly. That… that could make him a friend, couldn’t it?_

He recognizes that he’s probably being overly hopeful. Jūshirō has been that way as long as he can remember, though – overly hopeful, and eager to embrace others as friends rather quickly. It’s fair, Jūshirō believes, to say that he has a lot of friends. Jūshirō has laughed with them. Jūshirō has helped them with their schoolwork. Jūshirō has been a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board for wild ideas, and a regular attendee of get-togethers over haphazardly assembled food and low-grade sake (not that Jūshirō himself ever drinks very much). Jūshirō has yet to feel comfortable revealing his deeper feelings to any of them, the way so many of them seem to be comfortable doing to him, but he figures that such comfort will develop in time. _It’s bound to, isn’t it? I’ll get there eventually, won’t I?_ He’s only known most of them for a year or so, after all. And Jūshirō hardly wants to be a bother to his friends – no more than he inherently and inevitably is, anyway. Besides, even though these friendships are only newly forged and partially formed, they are friendships nonetheless. There must, Jūshirō is certain, be value in that.

 _But… Shunsui._ Jūshirō searches the mirror for answers. He still feels – just as he felt it when he first met Shunsui’s eyes, as he felt it when he touched Shunsui’s wrist, as he felt it when Shunsui, tinny voice ringing from the hell butterfly, had stammered “Tuesday afternoon sounds just fine to me” – he still feels that Shunsui is different. _Something_ about him is different.

For some reason that he can’t quite pinpoint, Jūshirō wants – almost desperately – to be Shunsui’s friend. More than he’s ever wanted to be anybody’s friend, in fact.

Jūshirō leans forward and stares even more closely at the mirror. _Why?_ he asks himself. _What is it about this man? There’s his spiritual pressure, yes, but I’m sure there’s something more._   Jūshirō thinks back to the last time he saw Shunsui, to their brief conversation about sparring with shikai. As soon as Jūshirō had mentioned shikai, Shunsui had flung up his defenses. _He seemed… almost afraid._ Jūshirō considers. _How can that be? Shikai is a beautiful thing._ But as Jūshirō re-imagines his and Shunsui’s parting that night – something he’s done rather frequently, truth be told – he remembers Shunsui’s face, Shunsui’s eyes. _There truly was a flicker of fear there,_ Jūshirō recalls. _Very immediate, very real fear. The kind of fear you don’t talk about, if you can help it –_

That thought gives Jūshirō pause.

_…could it really be that simple?_

And Jūshirō smiles again.

He’s figured it out.

_I think… I think Shunsui just needs a real friend._

Jūshirō laughs just a little. _Well! If that’s what Shunsui needs, then I can do that! I can do that for him. I can be his friend._ The laugh falters ever so slightly. He thinks of his frail body, of his white hair, of his tendency to faint when overtaxed. _I may not be able to do very much,_ Jūshirō admits to himself. _But that? Being a friend to a man who needs a friend?_ He sets his lips together in a thin, hard line, determined. _That, I can do._

Jūshirō takes a step back. His green eyes are steady in the mirror. Jūshirō feels good. Jūshirō feels ready. He brushes Sōgyo no Kotowari’s hilt with loving fingertips, and feels the zanpakuto respond with a ripple of affection, a current of fondness and warmth, that spreads up his arm. _How about you, boys?_ Jūshirō asks his sword. _Are you feeling as good today as I am? Are you ready, too?_ Distant laughter in the deep recesses of Jūshirō’s mind serve as an answer. _I thought you might be._

He nearly turns and departs right then, but something stops him. Jūshirō looks back to the mirror. _You might not feel like this again for quite some time, you know,_ he thinks, a little sadly. _These two days have been a blessing._

He isn’t sure why he does it, but, almost trancelike, Jūshirō lifts his hands from his sides and lays them flat against his ribs. He presses his fingers hard against the rough fabric of his uniform. He stands. And he stares. And Jūshirō breathes.

And Jūshirō, perversely captivated, watches himself breathe. He watches his torso expand to its full breadth and then contract again, watches his hands rise and fall against his chest in the mirror. _Savor this, Jūshirō_ , he tells himself. _Imagine – this must be very nearly how breathing feels for everyone else all the time. So… effortless. So easy. So free._

 _Only…_ Jūshirō hangs his head. As much as he’d like to, he can’t deny that slight feeling of tightness, of vague, pricking fire, inside him, somewhere not far below his heart. _That’ll never go away,_ he knows. _Not for a long, long time, at least._ He feels himself trembling, faintly. _You’ll never be like the others, Jūshirō. It’s simply not possible._

He looks up and sees that some of the color has drained from his cheeks. Sōgyo no Kotowari twitches at his side. _They’re worried about me,_ Jūshirō understands. _No need to worry, boys,_ he reassures his sword. _No need to fret! Today is still a good day, okay? I promise._ The zanpakuto twitches again. _They don’t believe me. Not that I should be surprised,_ he reflects. _I’m not sure I even fully believe myself._

The green eyes in the mirror seem faded now, somehow. Still kind, still intelligent, still intent – but faded.

And just then, the fire flairs in his chest. Jūshirō coughs. Just once – it’s small, it’s subtle, and it’s nothing, really – but it happens.

 _Maybe,_ Jūshirō thinks, _maybe…_

_Maybe…_

_I…_

_I could use a real friend, too._

 

***

 

Shunsui is already there when Jūshirō arrives at the zanjutsu training grounds. The grounds are sparsely populated; a few students spar on the grassy field in the middle of the hall, and still more linger about the edges, talking amongst each other as they watch their friends or prepare themselves to fight. When he sees Jūshirō, Shunsui, seated cross-legged on the sidelines on the opposite side of the field, throws up a hand in greeting and waves it enthusiastically back and forth. Jūshirō waves back. He feels himself smiling again. _See, what did I tell you?_ he asks Sōgyo no Kotowari. _Today’s a very good day indeed._

Jūshirō crosses the grounds and sits down next to Shunsui. “Hi,” he says, simply.

“Hi yourself,” Shunsui replies. “Good to see ya again, Jūshirō.”

“Likewise,” says Jūshirō. Then as an afterthought, he adds, “Shunsui.”

“I talked to those guys about half an hour ago,” Shunsui says, indicating the two students sparring more or less directly in front of them. “Field’s ours after this bout.”

“Perfect.”

Shunsui turns and glances sideways at Jūshirō, grey eyes glinting. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Jūshirō offers Shunsui a sideways glance of his own. “Without a doubt,” he says. And he offers Shunsui a smile, too, hoping it provides him a little encouragement and a little cheer.

“Heh. Okay, then.” Shunsui leans back on his elbows. He rolls his neck around two or three times, and then looks upwards. His dark face is awash with sunlight. “Picked a nice day for it, don’t’cha think?” he asks. “Good and sunny.”

“That’s springtime for you,” says Jūshirō. A breeze, faint but warm, blows across the grounds.

“Could just as easily have been raining, though.”

“That’s true.”

“I’d say we got lucky.”

“Yes, I suppose we did.”

“Kinda hot, though,” Shunsui continues.

“Oh,” says Jūshirō, “it’s not so bad, I don’t think.”

“Kinda hot for _spring_ , though.”

“Perhaps – perhaps a bit.”

There’s an awkward gap in the dialogue then. Shunsui stares dead ahead at the sparring students and taps his fingers against the ground. _He seems anxious_. Jūshirō, instinctively, wants to do something to reassure him. “I – I’ve been looking forward to this Shunsui,” Jūshirō says. “I think it’ll be great fun.”

 “Warning you now, man – I’m gonna sweat.”

“I – huh?”

“Cuz it’s so damn hot.” Shunsui maintains that dead-ahead stare as he speaks, the words coming out rapid-fire. “It’s gonna be pretty gross. I can tell.”

“Uh.” _Did he even hear me?_ “Well. I’m hardly put off by that, Shunsui. We’ll be _fighting,_ after all. I doubt I’ll make a pretty picture myself by the time we’re finished.”

“Uh- _huh_.” Shunsui taps his fingers faster and faster. The students on the field have sheathed their weapons, and they’re starting to make their way to the sidelines.

“Shunsui,” says Jūshirō slowly, “are… are _you_ sure _you’re_ ready for this? I… I didn’t mean to push you into something you’re not comfortable with.”

“Unless,” Shunsui says, “you have an ice-type zanpakuto? That could make a difference, I guess.”

“An ice… what?”

“In the _heat_ , Jūshirō. If you have an ice-type zanpakuto, things’ll be a little cooler, ya know?”

“I – oh.”

“Well?”

“Huh?”

“Do you?”

“Have an ice-type, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Um. I…” _How should I answer him?_ wonders Jūshirō. _For all I know, I actually will have an ice-type zanpakuto for the next few hours. And I certainly don’t want to seem deceitful or dishonest – I’ll never become a real friend to him if that’s what he thinks right off the bat._

Jūshirō’s eyes flit to Shunsui’s weapon – _No,_ Jūshirō realizes, _it’s weapons, plural! He has two swords, does he? Even sealed! I’ve never seen that before._ He tries, as quickly as he can, to gauge what kind of power Shunsui’s zanpakuto holds. _Somehow, I don’t see a zanpakuto like that being an ice-type,_ he decides. _That, coupled with the way Shunsui phrased his first question... He seemed to imply that it would be my zanpakuto, not his, that might cool things down…_ “No,” he says after a moment, “sorry. I’m afraid it’s not an ice-type.” _Not today, anyway!_

“What’s that look for?” Shunsui asks, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What look?” says Jūshirō, schooling his face into the blankest stare he can manage. “I wasn’t – ah – there wasn’t any look.”

“Nice try,” says Shunsui. “I bet you have an ice-type after all, don’t you?”

“No,” he says, feeling oddly guilty and struggling, but not quite succeeding, to keep that blank look on his face. “I don’t. Really, I don’t.”

“I’m gonna find out what your shikai is in just a second anyway, ya know,” Shunsui says pointedly.

“Oh?” And a sliver of the smile that Jūshirō has been attempting to contain breaks through. “Are you, now?”

“You saying I’m not?”

“Maybe...” Jūshirō’s smile grows.

“Whaddya mean, _maybe_?”

“I mean,” says Jūshirō, “that _maybe_ you’re not the only one with a weird shikai, Shunsui.”

“Yeah, right. I dunno if you know what _weird_ means, man.” Shunsui sits up, and makes to reach for his two swords – but then he thinks better of it, and lets his hand fall into his lap. “Can I – ” he starts, and then he frowns.

“What is it?”

“Eh. Nothin’ much. I just wanted – uh.”

“Whatever it is,” Jūshirō says gently, “you can tell me. I promise I won’t laugh.”

“It’s not that,” says Shunsui, almost absentmindedly. “I know you won’t laugh. You’re not the type.” He turns his frown towards his swords. “It’s just… ”

“Yes?”

“Do you… uh.” Shunsui’s fingers twitch in his lap, betraying his nervousness. “Do you… _like_ your zanpakuto, Jūshirō?”

By reflex, Jūshirō lays a hand on Sōgyo no Kotowari. “I… well, yes,” he confesses. “Very much.” He watches as Shunsui nods his head, gravely. Jūshirō is almost afraid to ask his next question, but he knows full well that he should. “And… you? Do you – ah – ”

“Hey! Shunsui!” One of the students who was sparring before waves vigorously, making sure he has Shunsui’s attention. “All yours, man!” he calls, as he and his training partner make for the doors.

“Thanks,” Shunsui shouts across the field, perhaps more forcefully than he needs to. The student gives Shunsui a massive, exaggerated thumbs-up, and then ducks out, closing the doors behind him.

Shunsui meets Jūshirō’s eyes. His gaze is hard, resolved. _And_ , sees Jūshirō, _a little sad, too._ Then, he seizes his zanpakuto roughly from the ground and stands. “Do I like my zanpakuto?” Shunsui says, his voice thick. “No, Jūshirō. No. I don’t.” He breaks away and strides to the center of the field, then turns back to Jūshirō, who still sits, more than a little disquieted, on the grass. “C’mon, man!” Shunsui yells. “We doin’ this thing or not?”

Jūshirō bites his lip. _I hope this wasn’t an absolutely horrible idea._ “We’re – ah – doing this thing, all right, Shunsui!” he calls back, hoping to assuage any doubts Shunsui might have. Then, he picks up Sōgyo no Kotowari and walks, with confidence and ease, to the middle of the field.

He stands even with Shunsui, whose swords are at the ready in his hands. Shunsui looks balanced, poised. He cuts a truly striking figure, Jūshirō notes. The focus in his face strips away anything that formerly appeared laid-back or boyish, and it’s clear from his stance that he could move any direction, any at all, almost effortlessly. His eyes have gone cold. He does not smile.

Two thoughts strike Jūshirō at the same time. The first thought is: _This is not a man who takes pleasure in fighting. And that… that’s… I think that’s good._ Jūshirō suddenly feels a slight tremor of fear work its way down his spine. _Because…_ he swallows, steadies himself. _Because…_

Because the second thought is: _This is a man who can kill._

 _But enough of that_ , Jūshirō resolves. _It’s just training. It’s just fun! Besides, how long has it been since you’ve used your shikai? It’ll be nice to use your shikai again._

In one smooth motion, Jūshirō draws Sōgyo no Kotowari. He tips his head to Shunsui in a kind of salute.

Shunsui nods back. “To the first blood?” he asks.

“All right,” says Jūshirō. He adjusts his fingers on his zanpakuto’s hilt, making sure he has a firm grip on the weapon.

“Good.” Shunsui’s voice has taken on a lifeless monotone. “First one to cut his opponent wins.”

“Right.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.” Green eyes lock onto grey once more. “You, Shunsui?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Jūshirō raises his blade. “In that case,” he says, “let’s go.”

_Time to find out what Kyōraku Shunsui’s shikai is all about._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! Hello again, everyone! Sorry for the delay - I've been contending with grad school application shenanigans, and I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like. But rest assured - the chapters will keep coming! I'm hoping to have the next one up before the end of the week. It's about halfway written already, and I'll actually have time over the next few days to finish it up. Oh - and it's gonna be a little more action-y and plot-y than these past two have been. So, if you're not really into the whole "characters get all introspective for two chapters in a row" thing, then firstly, I apologize, and secondly, you're in for something considerably more up your alley next time.  
> Which is to say - get stoked, 'cuz swordplay and shikai and (because I just can't resist including this little teaser) sake await in the next installment. Tee hee.  
> Also, I've completely given up on this story having three concrete parts. Clearly, it's gonna have more than three parts. I'm just gonna keep on going with it and see what happens.  
> And as always, thanks for reading! :D


	4. Pink Light, Black Shadows

It is incredible, thinks Shunsui, that Jūshirō can look so kind and harmless without a weapon in his hand. Because _with_ a weapon in his hand, he is a man transformed. It’s almost unsettling. His presence is determined, deadly even – and yet somehow, overwhelmingly peaceful. There’s no killing intent in his eyes, nothing that smacks of bloodlust or passion for fighting, but the way he moves is… _perfect_.

The word can’t help but slip into Shunsui’s mind. Jūshirō handles his zanpakuto like he was born to do it. Shunsui raises the sword in his right hand to block Jūshirō’s next attack, and their weapons clash, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the training grounds. Jūshirō slides sideways, whirling his blade. Seeing the slightest of openings, Shunsui takes a risk and extends his left hand, hoping that his shorter sword might make it past Jūshirō’s defenses. No such luck – one instant, Jūshirō is right next to Shunsui, completely within Shunsui’s range, and the next, he’s gone, leaving Shunsui gaping at the empty air where he once stood. _Where’d he – ?_ Before Shunsui can even complete the question in his mind, he senses something behind him, hears the whistle of a blade slicing through the warm spring air – _shit!_ Shunsui flash-steps away, and he reappears about twenty feet farther down the field. He looks back to the place he was before and, unsurprised, sees Jūshirō hovering there. Had Shunsui not moved, Jūshirō’s zanpakuto would, without a doubt, have cut him.

“Almost got me, Jūshirō!” calls Shunsui, grinning mischievously.

“I did, didn’t I?” Jūshirō shouts back. “That’s quite a flash-step you’ve got, Shunsui. Very impressive!”

“Well, thanks!” Shunsui gives Jūshirō a little bow. “I’m pretty proud of it, myself.”

“You should be!” And then Jūshirō is gone again. _Nope_ , thinks Shunsui, raising his swords protectively, _not this time, pal._ Jūshirō appears right where Shunsui suspected he might – off to his left, the side on which Shunsui holds his shorter sword. “Though,” Jūshirō says, “I must confess, I’m rather proud of my own flash-step, too.”

Jūshirō’s blade is mere centimeters from Shunsui’s neck. Shunsui’s blades are crossed beneath Jūshirō’s, and he’s keeping the point of the weapon at bay for the time being, but – _I gotta be careful. Gotta get outta this unscathed. If I move too quickly, his blade might slip in just the wrong way…_ Shunsui shoves his swords forwards and upwards, and Jūshirō teeters backwards for just a moment, thrown off balance. It’s brief, but it’s enough – “Aha!” yells Shunsui, triumphant. “Nice try, buddy! Almost had me that time, too!”

They’re at something of a stalemate. They float a few feet above the ground, directly opposite one another, each slightly on the defensive, each watching his opponent closely, each tracking every small movement, every slight fluctuation of spiritual pressure, every tiny, tiny flick of the eyes. _Who’s gonna move first? Me or him?_ He feels a jolt of impatience from Katen Kyōkotsu. _Calm down, you no-good, crazy piece of steel_ , Shunsui thinks. _You’ll get to use your shikai today, I freakin’ promise. I –_

Jūshirō is right next to him once again. _Man, he’s fast!_ It’s all Shunsui can do to parry, and then mount a reasonable counterattack. He spins around and manages to situate himself behind Jūshirō. _Got him this time!_ Shunsui’s short sword slices through the air, the blade aimed at Jūshirō’s shoulder. But there, once again – _as always, dammit –_ is Jūshirō’s sword, blocking the attack. Jūshirō’s blade slides down the length of Shunsui’s, and he ducks underneath it, twisting around to face Shunsui as he goes. _He’s good_ , Shunsui thinks, not for the first time since the fight began. _Really good. Probably – no, definitely – the best student I’ve ever faced, ever._ He watches Jūshirō, who hovers, alert, about five feet below him. _Who woulda thought it, huh? Guy like him? All skinny, and apparently prone to falling over in the middle of the street?_ Shunsui shrugs to himself. _People surprise you, I guess._

Jūshirō grins up at him. “Something wrong, Shunsui?” he asks.

“Nah,” Shunsui says with a smirk. “Just givin’ both of us a little break. Wouldn’t want this to be over too quickly, now, would I? Where would the fun in that be?”

“Well,” says Jūshirō, “that’s very considerate of you. But something tells me you’re not being entirely truthful…” He shifts his zanpakuto ever so slightly.  “Could it be you’re contemplating going into shikai?”

“Could be,” Shunsui replies slowly. He doesn’t mean it, though. He’s not sure he’s quite ready for shikai just yet.

But Katen Kyōkotsu seems to have heard him. _Damn you_ , he thinks at his sword, _I wasn’t being serious. I don’t wanna use my shikai right now. Okay?_ His zanpakuto seems mildly offended by that. It offers a suggestion, and Shunsui takes in a sharp breath, conceding its point. _Yes,_ he thinks, _I can see that I’m above him. That’s pretty damn obvious, isn’t it?_ The zanpakuto urges him further. _You’re being impatient_ , Shunsui tells it. Then, a second later – _yes, I KNOW you don’t care if you’re being pushy. I think you LIKE being pushy, you stupid –_ Katen Kyōkotsu surges with energy. _I told you – freakin’ calm down! It’s not like you can go into shikai on your own_ , Shunsui thinks furiously at the persistent weapon. _It doesn’t work that way. You need my help for that. You know that._

Shunsui looks down at Jūshirō, whose focused gaze hasn’t left his opponent, it seems, even for a second. He grips his swords tighter. _All right_ , he decides, finally. _Shikai it is. You’ve won this round, m’lady. Don’t get too damn smug about it._ But of course, he can feel Katen Kyōkotsu gloating over this small victory. _No surprise there. Typical. Typical, creepy-ass fucker._ His anger only mounts when Katen Kyōkotsu seems to take that as a compliment.

“All right, Jūshirō,” says Shunsui. “Ready for some real fun?”

“Am I ever!” Jūshirō laughs. “Shikai, then?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” But Shunsui still can’t help but feel uncertain, unprepared. _Can I buy some time to psych myself up?_ he wonders. _There’s gotta be a way._ “Say,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “here’s an idea. I’ll show ya mine if you show me yours.”

For the first time since the bout began, Jūshirō looks away, his eyes shutting and his head shaking back and forth as he struggles to contain his laughter. “I must admit,” he says, when he’s regained his composure, “I’ve never heard it put quite that way before.” _Jeez_ , thinks Shunsui, _if I’d known I could break his focus in a fight by embarrassing him with innuendos, I’d’a done that ages ago._ “But,” Jūshirō continues, “I think that seems fair.”

“…wait, really? You’re not kidding?”

“Not at all! I think it’s completely fair. I’m the one who asked about training with shikai, after all. And besides, this is only practice – I don’t mind.”

Jūshirō takes half a step backwards in the air. He grips his sword with both hands and holds it boldly out before him, an expression of intense concentration coming over his pale face. He takes a deep breath. A faraway look comes into his eyes. His spiritual pressure swells. “All waves, rise now and become my shield,” he intones, his voice resonant and strong and infused with power. “Lightning, strike now and become my blade!” Shunsui watches, enraptured. As Jūshirō finishes the words, his zanpakuto splits in two. Jūshirō’s arms are crossed in front of him now. Twin swords frame his face. The swords are long and thin, and about halfway down each weapon, a notch-like second blade breaks away and doubles back on itself – _a tricky defensive feature of some kind, maybe_ , Shunsui speculates. A chain of deep crimson hangs from the hilts of the swords, connecting them, and, faintly, Shunsui can see a series of small, square charms – _five of them, I think –_ dangling from the chain, swaying gently in the springtime breeze. Jūshirō very nearly glows with pride and happiness. “Sōgyo no Kotowari!” he proclaims, beaming.

“I… wow,” is all Shunsui can say. “Two swords, huh? I like your style! Sweet release, dude!”

“Thanks,” says Jūshirō. “I…yes, I... I’m rather fond of it!” It seems to Shunsui that he can barely speak though such a big smile. He looks incredible, really – all vigor, all joy, the very picture of a devoted and enthusiastic Shinigami-to-be. The wind picks up, and it catches his short, white hair, blowing it back and away from his face. Jūshirō’s green eyes glint in the sunlight. _How lucky he is_ , reflects Shunsui, _to feel such love for his zanpakuto_. The very idea of embracing Katen Kyōkotsu the way Jūshirō has embraced his weapon - Sōgyo no Kotowari, apparently – makes Shunsui shudder.

“Your turn, now,” Jūshirō calls up to Shunsui. “Seeing as I’ve… ah… ‘shown you mine…’”

“You sure you wanna see this?” Shunsui asks. His palms are sweating and his mouth has gone dry. “I told ya, man, it’s – ”

“– _weird,_ Shunsui. Yes. I know.” Jūshirō lowers his blades and lets his arms hang at his sides. “I know.”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a – ”

“Shunsui.”

“ – good idea, Jūshirō – ”

“ _Shunsui._ ”

“Huh?”

“Look at me.”

Shunsui hadn’t even noticed that he’d averted his eyes. Slowly, he moves to meet Jūshirō’s firm gaze. “What?”

“Shunsui. You can do this.”

“I know I can _do_ it, Jūshirō,” he snaps, much more harshly than he intended to.

“You don’t need to worry – ”

“Easy for _you_ to say. You’ve never seen – ”

“No, I haven’t. But _think_ of it, Shunsui. One day, you’ll be in an actual battle – you’ll be up against a hollow or something, and you’ll _have_ to go into shikai to – ”

“It’s not the _same_ , Jūshirō – ”

“Oh?” There’s a certain fire in Jūshirō’s voice that Shunsui has never heard before. “And why not?”

“Because – because – ”

“Yes?”

Shunsui lets out a cry of frustration. “It’s because I don’t give a _shit_ about what some hollow thinks of me,” he says. “My shikai – no, shut up, Jūshirō, lemme finish here – my shikai’s really freaky, okay? It’s really fucked up, okay?  And I’m – I’m afraid that it – that I – that I – ahhh, dammit, I’m just _afraid_ …”

“Afraid?” Jūshirō’s voice is soft again.

“Do you wanna know how many people have seen my shikai, Jūshirō?”

“…how many?”

“One. Just one. And it’s _me_. I’ve never shown my shikai to anyone before, understand?”

“I…” Jūshirō blinks. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I – if I’d known, I never would have – ”

“But you _did_ ,” says Shunsui. “And I couldn’t say no. There was no way I could say no.”

“You _could_ have, Shunsui. You absolutely – ”

“No. I couldn’t have. What would you have thought?” Jūshirō opens his mouth, but says nothing. “I mean it. What would you have thought?”

“Shunsui,” Jūshirō whispers, “you don’t have to – ”

“I couldn’t say no,” he repeats. “I couldn’t let you think that. Who the fuck knows why, but… I couldn’t.”

They’ve come to another stalemate, this one more uncomfortable than the last. _Who’s gonna move first?_ thinks Shunsui bitterly. _Me or him?_ He looks down again at Jūshirō, who still stands, calm and reserved and regarding Shunsui carefully, with his twin swords clutched in his hands. Shunsui grips Katen Kyōkotsu hard. _Well_ , he thinks, scarcely daring to believe himself, _I’ve gotta show off my shikai sometime, right?_ His next thought catches him off guard. _I’m… I’m glad that the first person to see it will be Jūshirō. If anyone can accept it… can accept… me… I dunno why, but I think that if anyone can do that… it’s him._

Shunsui closes his eyes. Katen Kyōkotsu can scarcely contain her excitement. _She knows it’s almost time to play._ “Jūshirō,” he says, deadly serious.

“Yes?”

“Move above me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“All right…”

Shunsui can sense Jūshirō’s hesitation. “Trust me, Jūshirō,” he says. “It’s better this way. My zanpakuto is a fickle, fickle bitch, and I don’t want to take any risks.” He cracks his eyes open for a moment and sees Jūshirō flash-step to a higher position in the air. Katen Kyōkotsu all but cringes, thoroughly displeased. “It’s not giving up an advantage,” Shunsui mutters. “It’s keeping him safe. Now, for the last time, calm the _fuck_ down.” He raises the blade in his left hand. “You’ll have your chance soon enough.”

He can sense Jūshirō watching him from above. _Here goes nothing._ “Flower wind rage,” Shunsui recites solemnly, lifting the sword in his right hand so it crosses the one in his left, “and flower god roar.” _Oh, god –_ “Heavenly wind rage – ” _Oh, god, I’m really doing this –_ “and heavenly demon – ” _No turning back now –_ “sneer!” He drags the blade of his right sword swiftly along the blade of his left, shivering as he hears and feels steel quiver against steel. The swords grow and change in his hands, darkening, curving, becoming heavier, stronger. Before long, Shunsui holds two black and silver scimitars with rounded ruts on the insides of their blades and blood red tassels hanging from their hilts. _My moody mistress, free again at last. If only she weren’t so thrilled about it._

Shunsui opens his eyes.

“Katen Kyōkotsu,” he says.

 

***

 

Jūshirō can’t figure it out.

_…move above him?_

At first, Jūshirō had assumed that it had something to do with the process of Shunsui’s release – perhaps, he’d considered, Shunsui’s shikai initially generated some massive ejection of power. Or, perhaps Jūshirō would simply have been in the way of Shunsui’s release if he stayed where he was – perhaps a large manifestation of some kind appeared underneath Shunsui, or perhaps Shunsui’s weapons extended below him somehow. But as Shunsui had finished his release, Jūshirō had only been able to stare, utterly perplexed.

The release is impressive, no question about it. It’s every bit as grand and glorious as the transition into shikai should be. And Jūshirō had been surprised, and more than a little delighted, when he’d heard Shunsui’s verbal command to his zanpakuto – _It’s almost as long as my own,_ Jūshirō had mused. _A veritable poem to release his shikai! And two swords, too!_ He can’t help but think now that the two of them had practically been made to spar. _It’s nearly perfect, isn’t it?_

But Jūshirō remains vexed. _Why ask me to move above him? Why?_ It must be to do with his shikai’s abilities, Jūshirō reasons, not his release. He rapidly considers what he knows about Shunsui’s shikai. _I know it involves two weapons,_ he thinks. _I know his zanpakuto isn’t an ice-type._ _I know Shunsui wanted to begin this part of the bout with me situated above him – though_ , he reflects, _I have no idea whether that gives him an advantage or not. Under ordinary circumstances, I would assume that it does, but in this case…_ Jūshirō regards Shunsui searchingly. _I can’t tell_ , he thinks. _This man and his shikai are an absolute enigma to me._

Except, that is, for one detail, which Shunsui has made abundantly clear: _It’s… weird. His shikai is… weird._ Jūshirō frowns. _So he says, anyway._

There’s only one way that Jūshirō’s going to find out just what that means, though. “Well done!” he calls down to Shunsui. “That’s a release if I’ve ever seen one! Very, very nice!”

“Thank you,” says Shunsui, but there’s no mirth in his voice. He keeps his eyes cast down.

“Doesn’t seem that… ah… _weird_ … to me, Shunsui,” tries Jūshirō.

“You haven’t seen the half of it.”

“Show me, then!”

Shunsui’s eyes snap upwards. “Show you?”

“Yes! Show me, Shunsui – attack me!”

“Jūshirō – ”

“Once again, that’s what’s fair,” says Jūshirō, cutting Shunsui off on purpose. “I released my shikai before you did, so why don’t you make the first move?”

“You sure?”

“Completely sure.”

“I – well…” Shunsui squares his shoulders. “All right,” he says. “But remember – you asked for it.”

“Duly noted.” Jūshirō gives Shunsui another little smile – _I think he needs all the encouragement he can get, really_. “Say,” he adds, “I don’t need to stay up above you the whole time, do I?”

He meant the question to be something of a joke, but Shunsui, countenance grim, only says, “Once we get started, I doubt you’ll be able to.”

“Oh.” Jūshirō feels the smile slip from his face. “Well. All right, then.”

He stares down at Shunsui and shifts Sōgyo no Kotowari to a defensive position, making sure the sword in his left hand extends slightly farther than the one in his right. _Best to be ready for anything_. Jūshirō feels Shunsui’s spiritual pressure surge, can almost see Shunsui’s mind working furiously, as he raises his arms, no doubt in preparation for an attack. _It’s a kido type_ , Jūshirō decides, watching closely, _I’d stake my life on it. But what does it do? Show me, Shunsui – Show me your weird shikai – Don’t be afraid! – Show me –_

“Hey, Jūshirō – ” says Shunsui, his arms drawn all the way back now, his expression harder than Jūshirō has seen it yet.

“…yes?” Jūshirō answers warily.

“How do you feel about games?” His voice cracks. _Fear again?_ Jūshirō wonders. _Or… or eagerness? Readiness? Excitement?_ Looking at Shunsui’s face, Jūshirō can’t tell.

“…games?” manages Jūshirō.

“That’s right,” says Shunsui. “Games.”

“Games?” Jūshirō repeats. “Shunsui, what are you talking – ”

“You’re about to find out!” he calls, and he thrusts himself backwards through the air. He swings one blade forwards. A snarl splits his face. Jūshirō grips his swords hard. _Here it comes_. Shunsui draws in a massive breath. His enormous spiritual pressure spikes. _How can he have so much power?_ Jūshirō’s eyes grow wide. _What’s he doing? What’s he capable of? What’s this attack? Why – why did I have to move above him?_

_And what on earth did he mean by… games?_

_***_

_“Bushōgoma!”_

Shunsui’s cry cuts across the training grounds. He feels Katen Kyōkotsu practically quake with glee. He swings his arms around, and sends a giant wave of air spinning, hurtling, careening towards Jūshirō. Jūshirō blocks, ducks his head. The air envelopes him, whirls around him like a tornado, and for a good half a minute, Shunsui cannot see him at all. _He hasn’t fallen, though. I know that much. And that attack doesn’t seem to have impacted his spiritual pressure at all – damn, he’s steady._ Soon, the wind clears, and Jūshirō seems to rematerialize in the air above Shunsui.

_Is he – oh, dear god, seriously?!_

Jūshirō’s smiling. 

“Good one, Shunsui!” he calls. “Shame you missed me, though!”

“I won’t miss this time,” growls Shunsui, winding up once more. Katen Kyōkotsu nudges him. “That was quick,” Shunsui mutters. “Bored of this game already, are ya?” She only nudges further. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll play somethin’ else in a minute. Just lemme get this attack in, all right?”

“What’s the hold-up?”

“Nothin’ for you to worry about, pal!” shouts Shunsui. _“Bushōgoma!”_

Jūshirō seems even more ready for the attack this time, if such a thing is possible. He shifts slightly sideways, sizing up the shape of the gusts of wind spiraling towards him. When the wind arrives, thrusts the sword in his left hand directly into it – _what the hell’s that gonna do? You can’t attack wind,_ thinks Shunsui. But then, Shunsui gasps. The power of his Bushōgoma starts to disappear, as if it’s being funneled away into the point of Jūshirō’s blade. And just like that, the spinning wind is gone.

Jūshirō’s still smiling.

 _I told you we should play a different game_ , Katen Kyōkotsu whispers inside his head. _I told you_.

“Shut up,” Shunsui tells her. “At least I released you, you creep. Be grateful.”

She bristles. _We’re playing something else now._

“ _Fine_ ,” says Shunsui, “just – ”

But then, he senses a subtle shift in Jūshirō’s spiritual pressure, a slight summoning of power. _What’s he – ?_ Suddenly, a wave of air shoots out, lightning-fast, from the blade in Jūshirō’s right hand. It hits Shunsui before Shunsui even fully registers that it’s coming. The wind whips past his face, tugging at his hair and clothes, and Shunsui finds himself lost, fumbling for any clue as to which way is up and which way is down. He catches a glimpse of sky through the chaos of the whirling wind – _that must be up –_ and he flash-steps with all his might, hoping that he might emerge above the tumult.

As luck would have it, he does. Shunsui sighs with relief. When he looks down, he sees the last of the wind dispelling, still faintly visible and still circling around on itself in feisty little rotaries. _But where’s Jūshirō?_ Shunsui looks about him in all directions. At first, he sees nothing – but then, out of nowhere, he senses Jūshirō’s presence off to his right. Jūshirō’s blade just misses Shunsui’s upper arm. Shunsui flings one blade up in a desperate parry, and slips his other blade underneath, aiming at Jūshirō’s leg. But Jūshirō swings around and bears down on Shunsui from above, crossing his blades and applying a tremendous amount of force to the blow. Shunsui crosses his own blades in response and shoves right back. The deadlock is fierce. Jūshirō’s face is mere inches from Shunsui’s. And Shunsui, breathing hard and willing his arms not to shake, finds himself staring directly into Jūshirō’s eyes.

They’re everything Shunsui expected – green, pure, even, calm – but right now, as their weapons clash beneath the the sweltering springtime sun, they are so, _so_ much more than that. They are strong, and they are fierce, and they are intent. They are hypnotic. They’re very nearly magnetic. Shunsui cannot look away. They are… _Good god. Beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful eyes._ It’s as if the whole world, perhaps even the whole universe, has stopped for a moment. Shunsui can smell the sweat on Jūshirō’s skin, sharp, strong, but somehow sweet – he can feel the heat of Jūshirō’s hushed, rushing breaths as they escape his soft, parted lips and ghost over Shunsui’s cheek – he can feel drops of perspiration rolling down his own face, can feel his heart pounding, pounding, _pounding_ , in his chest –

 _What are you DOING, you fool?_ Katen Kyōkotsu’s sharp voice slices through his lapse in focus. Her words rattle around like bones inside his skull. _I told you – I want to play a new game! Stop this nonsense, and play a new game!_

 _At once, m’lady_ , thinks Shunsui, jarred, and consequently unable to do anything but obey her. A roar emerges unbidden from his throat as he redoubles his efforts. Jūshirō grunts as Shunsui places new strain the engagement. _He’s struggling a little. Good. Now’s my chance –_ and Shunsui breaks the contact between Jūshirō’s blades and his own, raising his right sword and slamming it back down again, sending Jūshirō reeling backwards and downwards several feet. Jūshirō tumbles once in the air, and then regains his footing. From the way he holds his weapons, Shunsui can see that he’s on the defensive. Pieces of his white hair are plastered to his forehead with sweat. His chest heaves. His lips tremble. The image of Jūshirō crashing to the cobblestones in the middle of the street and fighting for breath flashes briefly across Shunsui’s mind, and for a moment, Shunsui worries. _Is he all right?_ But then Shunsui’s gaze returns to those eyes, to those unwavering eyes, and he sees the truth. _Those are not the eyes of a man about to back down,_ he knows. _I’m just going to have to trust him to know his limits._

 _Shunsui!_ It’s Katen Kyōkotsu again, and she’s not happy. _Are we playing or not?_

“We’re playing,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

_Then why don’t you make a move, before –_

And then, Jūshirō’s above him. _That’s one quick flash-step,_ Shunsui thinks again. He grins up at Jūshirō. “I don’t think so, pal,” he says.

“Oh?” replies Jūshirō, raising the blade in his right hand.

Shunsui bounds up to land above Jūshirō. “Nope. I don’t think so.” He brings the blade in his own right hand back, and launches himself downwards. _“Takaoni!”_ he shouts, and offers Jūshirō a massive, heavy downward stroke.

Jūshirō raises both of his blades to block Shunsui’s attack. _“Whoa!”_ he exclaims as Shunsui’s weapons meet his own, “ _whoa!_ You – Shunsui, you got stronger all of a sudden!” And then he’s hurtling backwards once again, and it’s only with a considerable effort that he manages to right himself before he crashes all the way down to the grass.

“Damn right I got stronger,” sneers Shunsui. He raises his blade again. _“Takaoni!”_ he cries once more, and this time, his attack sends Jūshirō straight to the ground. Jūshirō slams into the grassy field. He lands, hard, on his back, but he wastes no time in rising again, swords at the ready.

Katen Kyōkotsu snickers inside Shunsui’s head. _You had to choose afternoon, didn’t you? Not early evening?_

“He set the time,” says Shunsui grudgingly, watching as Jūshirō slowly floats upwards.

 _Hmm._ Katen Kyōkotsu pouts. _You can hold him here until sundown, can’t you?_

“Yes…” says Shunsui, knowing exactly what she’s thinking and not liking it one bit.

 _Please?_ she implores, using a kinder tone of voice than she has in a good while. _It’s been such a long time, Shunsui. I miss that game. It’s my favorite, you know._

“You have a new favorite every time I release,” Shunsui points out, but his zanpakuto only tuts at him.

_So what? I’m a refined lady. I’m allowed to change my tastes now and then if I want to._

“Refined lady, my ass,” says Shunsui.

She doesn’t take that well at all.

 _Hold him here until sundown_ , she says, firmly.

“C’mon, babe,” Shunsui tries, “can’t ya – ”

 _Sundown_ , she repeats. _I won’t have it any other way._

***

 

They’ve been fighting for a long, long time.

It seems that way to Jūshirō, anyway. He’s getting tired. He can feel his body getting tired. Not to the point of danger – at least, he doesn’t think so – but tired nonetheless. His hair and his uniform are soaked through with sweat, and it’s nearly all he can do to parry Shunsui’s attacks and riposte with his own. But despite all that, Jūshirō is happy. Terribly, terribly happy. This is, by far, the best spar he’s ever had. He and Shunsui seem to be fairly evenly matched – a point on which Jūshirō can’t help but pride himself a little, because it’s overwhelmingly clear that Shunsui is an incredible swordsman.

What’s more, he doesn’t think that Shunsui is holding back. _No – there’s no way he’s holding back,_ Jūshirō decides, as another wild blast of air from Shunsui’s Bushōgoma careens towards him. That makes him happier than anything else. Usually, when Jūshirō spars, his opponents are cautious, wary. They are Jūshirō’s friends, and they recognize that Jūshirō can only push his afflicted body so far, and as a consequence, they tend to go easy on him. _Because they don’t know how far I can actually go. They’ve never let me show them._ Jūshirō understands completely why they do it – _but it isn’t fair. Not really._ Still, those spars have given him ample opportunity to hone his technique in low-stakes situations, and thanks to that, he’s suspected for a while now that both his form and his control are nearly unparalleled.

He smiles again. Shunsui is proving his suspicions right today.

Their fight has taken on a quality of something like poetry. Attack, parry, counterattack, flash-step, attack again, bursts of spinning air from Shunsui and Jūshirō both, attack again, counterattack again, flash-step again, competition to gain the higher ground – because Jūshirō figured out very quickly that when Shunsui says “Takaoni,” the combatant who is situated above the other gains a significant advantage in strength. _Which answers my earlier questions to some extent_ , Jūshirō had reflected. _What he meant by “games,” and why he asked me to move above him._ One aspect of that still irks him though – _why would Shunsui begin by taking away something that benefits him?_ But there would be time to think about that later – because right now, a new attack from Shunsui is imminent. Jūshirō blocks, and attempts a riposte, but his blade only meets Shunsui’s, as Shunsui has expertly shifted his weapons in a clever parry of his own – _and so it continues,_ thinks Jūshirō, still smiling.

The sky has turned to pale pink above them. Long shadows stretch across the grass. The deep light sets the angles of Shunsui’s face in sharp relief, and his dark skin shines with sunlight and sweat. Jūshirō watches him closely as their weapons clash time and time again. Shunsui’s eyes flit about, alternately taking in the flurry of blows in which he’s engaged, and the sky, and the ground. _He’s thinking. He’s thinking fast._ He seems to be muttering to himself, too quietly and too indistinctly for Jūshirō to hear, even at this close distance. _Something new is coming_ , Jūshirō realizes slowly. _Some new… “game,” perhaps._ His smile twitches a little. How apt, he can’t help but think, that Shunsui’s shikai attacks are named after children’s games, given that his own zanpakuto spirits are children themselves. _Practically made to spar,_ Jūshirō thinks again.

But then the thought evaporates, as Shunsui leaps above him and shouts _“Takaoni!”_ He bears down on Jūshirō with what seems to be all his strength. _Whoa – I can’t – I –_  and then Jūshirō is sailing down, down, down, unable to stop himself from smashing lopsided into the grass. He hears a faint _crack_ and feels a spike of pain in his left shoulder. He remains crumpled on the ground for a moment, probably for longer than he needs to, strictly speaking, adjusting his grip of his left hand on Sōgyo no Kotowari’s hilt. _I can still use this arm, right? Surely –_ but he isn’t given time to complete the thought, because suddenly, Shunsui is standing over him, swinging his blade around to Jūshirō’s left side. _Well. There’s proof that he isn’t going easy on me, if I needed it._ Reflexively, Jūshirō thrusts his left blade upwards in a parry. Pain rips through his shoulder as Shunsui’s blade meets his. Jūshirō gasps, and can’t stop himself from letting out a weak little cry. _No,_ he insists, forcing the thought through the pain. _I’m not giving up this easily._ He springs up from the ground using every ounce of power his legs can muster and sends the blade in his right hand whistling towards Shunsui’s exposed left side.

But then, the strangest thing happens. All of a sudden, Shunsui is gone.

 _That wasn’t a flash-step_ , thinks Jūshirō. _What was…? Where did he…?_

“Gotcha,” comes a whisper from right behind Jūshirō. Then: _“Kageoni.”_

Jūshirō feels a tremor of weakness shoot through his entire body. The world pitches and swims before him. He can’t see straight. He can’t stand up straight. He can’t think straight. _What… what the hell?_ Everything seems to move in slow-motion. Black shadows begin to close in on the edges of his vision. Dimly, he’s aware of Shunsui’s blade inching forwards, threatening to slide against the soft flesh of his forearm and draw his blood. Jūshirō feels powerless. Jūshirō feels empty. Jūshirō feels… _Why should I feel this way? W-what happened? What is this power?_ Jūshirō feels… Inexplicably, Jūshirō feels… _I feel…_

_Despair…_

 

***

_What are you doing?_ Shunsui roars in his mind to Katen Kyōkotsu. _I told you to pull back your power!_

_He’s still alive, isn’t he?_

“That’s not good enough!” Shunsui hisses aloud, furious. "Look at him! You’re _killing_ him!”

 _No,_  she corrects,  _we're_ _killing him, Shunsui. We. You and me together. It’s a team effort, this thing that we do._

“You’re insane!”

 _You’re insane,_ she says, mimicking him.

“Pull back your power! _Now_ , you bitch!”

 _Those aren't the rules_ , she leers cheerfully. _Those aren't the rules._

Shunsui can only freeze, hoping she doesn’t push his arm further.

 _You’ve nearly got him!_ snarls Katen Kyōkotsu. _Why stop now? Finish him, Shunsui! Finish him!_

Shunsui shakes his head.

_We’ve won, Shunsui! We’ve won the game! Now, win the fight, too!_

“I can’t…” he breathes.

_What?_

“I _can’t_.”

A chill ripples up Shunsui’s spine. _You’re afraid_ , she says.

“Obviously,” he whispers.

 

***

_I feel... despair..._

So, then.

This is what Shunsui had meant by “weird.” This is what Shunsui had been afraid of. Jūshirō, weak body quaking from the strain of the fight and the draining effects of this strange power, understands now.

 _There’s something not unlike this power hiding in his soul_ , Jūshirō thinks hazily. _He was afraid of what would happen if anyone knew._

Slowly, slowly, Shunsui’s blade slides further and further forward. _If I don’t make a move soon…_

Jūshirō closes his eyes.

 

***

 

 _He hasn’t given up yet,_ says Katen Kyōkotsu. _Finish him NOW, before he does something!_

“I…”

_Shunsui!_

“Will you pull back your power?”

_That’s no fun._

“Please!”

_What, you WANT to leave him alive?_

“Yes! Yes, you _freak_ , yes!”

She pauses. _He’s dangerous to you, Shunsui._

“Wha… what?” he asks, genuinely stagnated for the first time since their conversation began.

She only giggles. _You mean… you don’t know?_

 

***

 

Jūshirō forces his spiritual pressure to surge.

_I can do this._

He feels his power grow.

_I can._

He feels the despair within him begin to fade.

_I can prove to Shunsui that this power won’t damn him._

_I’m stronger than this._

_I’m stronger than despair._

Jūshirō grips the sword in his right hand tight, preparing his attack.

_I can do this._

_I can win._

And he smiles again.

_I can win, and I can give Shunsui hope._

 

***

 

“Dangerous? I… him? Dangerous? I…”

 _Ah. I see._ Shunsui can feel Katen Kyōkotsu dimming her power, returning it almost to the faint glow at which she prefers to rest in her sealed form. _You have no idea at all, do you, Shunsui? That’s incredible, truly._

“Tell me?”

_I don’t think I will._

_“_ Tell me,” he begs, desperate.

 _I think_ , she says, an uncharacteristic seriousness permeating her tone, _that this, Kyōraku Shunsui, is something you should figure out for yourself._

“No!” he cries. “Please! Tell me! _Tell me!”_

He knows she’s considering. _Well…_ she whispers, after what feels like a very long time, _I will say this. Think of our power, Shunsui. Then, think of… him. Then, think of your heart. And ask yourself if all three can – and should – truly exist in the same place at the same time._

“What… what is that supposed to mean?”

In response, she only slips out of her shikai. Shunsui is left gaping, gasping, guessing, with his small daisho in his hands.

 _We’re done playing for today, Shunsui,_ she says.

 

***

 

Just like that, the despair vanishes.

Jūshirō shudders, and gulps the pure, clean air – _I was holding my breath before. I didn’t even notice._

He whirls around and sees Shunsui standing stock-still behind him. His zanpakuto is sealed again. “Shunsui?” Jūshirō whispers, seeing his haggard, drawn face.

“We’re not done yet,” Shunsui replies, raising his sealed weapons. “First blood, remember?”

“I remember,” says Jūshirō, but he sees that Shunsui has no heart left for the fight. “Shunsui. How… how about we call it a draw?”

But Shunsui shakes his head. “First blood,” he says. “Rules are rules.”

"It’s just a spar,” Jūshirō says. “Between – between – _friends_. Surely – ”

“No. We agreed first blood. First blood it is.”

Jūshirō sets his countenance. _He’s surprisingly stubborn._ “Fine,” Jūshirō says, and he springs backwards and lands lightly on the grass. Shunsui watches cautiously from where he stands. _Time to seal up again, boys,_ Jūshirō says to Sōgyo no Kotowari. _Thank you for a good fight today._ He extends his twin swords out in front of him, and the blades converge, melding seamlessly together to form one, single katana again. Jūshirō takes up the blade with his right hand. “First blood?” he calls across the field to Shunsui.

“I – yes… Jūshirō, we literally _just_ went over this – ”

“Good.” Jūshirō raises his left hand, palm upwards. His shoulder twinges, but he ignores the pain for the time being.

“Jūshirō, what are you – ” Shunsui begins to charge across the field, seeing what Jūshirō is about to do. “Don’t you – that’s cheating! That’s gotta be cheating!”

“Too late,” says Jūshirō evenly, and he draws Sōgyo no Kotowari across the calloused skin of his palm. It hurts, but not very much. He raises his hand to show Shunsui. Small rivulets of red drip through his fingers and down his wrist, glistening brightly, boldly, against his pale skin. “First blood,” he says, laughing. “You win!”

And then Jūshirō collapses, utterly spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, oh, boy.  
> This chapter was wildly fun to write. I don't have a whole lot to say about, it actually, except that it's my first time ever writing a fight. So. Um - I hope it goes over well!  
> I should also say that I'm aware that I probably took some liberties with Shunsui's shikai here. I'd planned out the beginning of this chapter pretty thoroughly, but the end just kinda... happened. I mean, I knew I wanted to end with Kageoni, but the intensity of it all just sort of crept up on me, and, um... I liked it, so I kept it. But I was thinking - we don't really know what it's like to be subject to the having-your-shadow-stepped-on part of Kageoni, do we? (Please do correct me if I'm wrong). So, as I was writing, that aspect of Kageoni sort of turned into a sort of mini-proto-version of Shunsui's bankai. It could be totally and completely false and inaccurate and wrong - probably is, really - but if you consider that Shunsui and Jūshirō haven't fully mastered their shikai yet this early on, something like that isn't impossible, I think.  
> Also - to anyone who was looking forward to the "sake" component of this chapter - I'm so, so sorry! It - um - got longer than I meant it to. Ahem. Again. I think I should stop making promises about the contents of future chapters, because this keeps happening to me. Um. Oops.  
> But - I can say, with absolute certainty, that there will be sake in the next installment. As in, I've literally planned for it to comprise the bulk of what moves the plot forward from here. Also, I expect that it, too, will be wildly fun to write. Hee hee.  
> Well, that's all I've got for now - thanks a bunch for reading, friends! :D


	5. That Red Sunset Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..ok, but for real, I'm done making promises about what's gonna happen in these chapters.  
>  Um.  
> Please don't hate me too much for the distinct and noticeable lack of sake?

_Well, shit._

Shunsui frowns.

_I maybe shoulda seen this coming._

Jūshirō’s out cold. Shunsui has called his name, has slapped him gently across the face, has slapped him none-too-gently across the face, and has, now, just about run out of ideas. 

 _Jeez. What do I do now?_ Shunsui’s initial thought had been to get Jūshirō off the field, to get him out of the sun and the wind, and out of the way of any other students who might want to use the grounds to spar, but the angle of Jūshirō’s left arm had stopped him _Oh. Now, that’s just fantastic_ , Shunsui had thought. The way the arm sticks out is a little bit funny, a little bit wrong. Jūshirō’s left shoulder slumps down lower than his right, and faint bruising is beginning to show along what Shunsui can see of his collarbone. Shunsui doesn’t want to risk injuring the arm any further if he can help it, and he’s worried that moving Jūshirō will do just that.

Shunsui takes solace in two things, though. First, there’s the regular, even rise and fall of Jūshirō’s chest. He seems to be breathing pretty easily – _thank god_ , Shunsui can’t help but think. Second, there’s his spirit energy. Shunsui is in awe of its force and vitality. Even while he’s unconscious on the ground, Jūshirō’s spirit energy still flows with remarkable vigor and precision. _It might even be stronger now than when he was standing up_ , Shunsui realizes. _That… that can’t be right. Can it?_ The wind rustles across the grounds and over Shunsui’s skin, which is still wet with sweat. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he shivers a little. _I guess whatever damage Katen Kyōkotsu did wasn’t the lasting kind._

But no matter how strong Jūshirō might be, there’s still the matter of what, exactly, to do with him. _Should I try and get a closer look at that arm?_ Shunsui wonders. Most of the injury is hidden by the layers of cloth of the Academy uniform, and with so much fabric in the way, it’s hard to gauge the wound’s severity. “Uh. Jūshirō?” Shunsui says, for what has to be the tenth time at least, but, just as he expected, he receives no response. “Dammit,” he mutters. Feeling oddly self-conscious, Shunsui takes careful hold of the fabric covering Jūshirō’s left shoulder and attempts to push it down Jūshirō’s arm as gently as he can. Jūshirō winces feebly when Shunsui brushes the shoulder. Shunsui stops the movement for a second, watching closely. He tries to push the fabric down again, but Jūshirō’s head whips around to the side, and his jaw clamps shut, and the fingers of his left hand, coated in that thin layer of drying blood, begin to twitch. Shunsui sighs, exasperated. “ _C’mon_ , man,” he says. “Help me out here, would ya?”

“Excuse me?”

“Huh?” Shunsui turns to look behind him. “Uhhh,” he says. “Uh. Um. H-hi…”

The chick standing behind him is absolutely gorgeous. Her dark brown hair is pulled into some kind of loose, effortless-looking, twisty thing in the back of her head. Her rosy lips are parted in concern. Her bright blue eyes, shining in the setting sun, are bordered by a pair of round, bronze spectacles. She’s a petite thing, with a tiny waist, and curves which are small but soft, and which complement the size of her feminine frame very, very nicely. Shunsui has to stop himself from giving her a full, conspicuous up-and-down once-over – but boy, oh, boy, is that difficult for him to do. He settles for fixing his stare at the opening at the top of her uniform, where he catches the slightest glimpse of supple, pink flesh. She’s modest enough not to let her neckline dip down very far, but, Shunsui figures, it’s better than nothing.

 _Hot damn_ , he thinks.

“I thought that might be Shirō-kun,” she says. She takes a few steps forward and kneels opposite Shunsui, on Jūshirō’s right side. “I’d know that spirit energy anywhere.”

“Shirō-kun?” repeats Shunsui, whose brain seems to have frozen up for the time being. “Oh – oh! You mean, Jūshirō?”

“Ah – yes.” A little smile crosses her pretty face, one that says _I’d have thought that much was perfectly obvious._ Shunsui resists the urge to smack himself on the forehead for his stupidity. “Hi, by the way,” the girl continues. “I’m Shimizu Mai.” When Shunsui just keeps on staring and says nothing, she adds, “I’ve known Shirō-kun for a long time. We were children together in Sakahone.”

“Oh – right,” Shunsui finally manages to say, “right.” _Jūshirō’s from the Rukongai, huh? Who knew?_ “Uh. Uh – Kyōraku Shunsui. Is me. Is my name. I – uh. Jūshirō and I only met recently, actually.”

“Kyōraku Shunsui…” muses Shimizu Mai. “Yes... I think I recognize you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’m sure of it, now – we’re in the same tactics lecture. Do you – ah – do you tend to fall asleep in class, Kyōraku-san?”

Shunsui can feel his cheeks going red. “Um. Every now and then.”

“No need to feel embarrassed, Kyōraku-san,” she says. “I think it’s rather endearing.”

“Oh. Well. In that case – uh, thanks. I guess.”

Shimizu Mai doesn’t respond to that. She’s looking Jūshirō up and down, and her brow is furrowed in concentration. “Shirō-kun?” she says, extending a hand and gently brushing Jūshirō’s damp hair away from his forehead.

Inexplicably, Shunsui feels a sharp pang of – of _something_ – when she does that. Something unpleasant. Something almost like jealousy, he realizes – _do I wish that it was my hair she was touching? Or… or is it something… else?_ He frowns again. Oddly, just what he’s jealous of, he can’t be sure. “I don’t think he can hear you,” says Shunsui. His voice is much rougher than he intends it to be.

“Probably not,” Shimizu Mai concedes, still stroking Jūshirō’s hair, “but it doesn’t hurt to try.” She looks back to Shunsui. “Well,” she says, “I don’t have much time before my sparring match begins, so let’s see if we can’t get him sorted out fairly quickly.”

“You – uh – do you think we should call for Squad Four?”

“No,” she replies, right away. “That’s more trouble than it’s worth, believe me.”

“Uh – okay, then.” _Well, that’s weird. But if she’s known Jūshirō since they were kids, then I’m willing to bet she knows what she’s talking about._ “If you say so. What do you think – ”

“He’s fine, really,” Shimizu Mai continues, “just exhausted himself, I suspect. That… ah…” She sighs. “He does that. He means well, but he really can be an idiot, sometimes. I assume, Kyōraku-san, since you were training with him, that he’s told you something about his…” She pauses. “…his situation?”

“Situation?” says Shunsui. “Uh. No, not much.”

“Hmm,” she says, disapprovingly. “I’m surprised. And a little disappointed in him for that, frankly.” She turns back to Jūshirō. “Hear that, Shirō-kun?” she teases. “I’m a little disappointed in you!” Looking at Shunsui again, she says, “Well. Whatever this little incident might be, he’s seen worse, I can assure you.” Then, she rolls up her sleeves, and her eyes start to flit up and down Jūshirō’s prone figure once more. “Still,” she says, “I think we should do something about that arm of his.”

“Yeah. Good.” Shunsui scoots forward a few inches, trying to look helpful. “If I had to guess, I’d say his shoulder’s dislocated – ”

“Yes, I think so, too.”

“I couldn’t really get a good look, though – ”

“Right.” With her unoccupied hand, she begins to pull at the fabric of Jūshirō’s uniform, loosening it about the waist. “Help me get his arm free, would you, Kyōraku-san?”

“Oh – yeah, sure. ’Course. Uh – ”

“Just – here, get his shirt out of the way, just – just there – ”

“Uh. Yeah – ”

Between the two of them, they manage to remove both Jūshirō’s robe and undershirt without too much difficulty. Shunsui grimaces when he takes in the injury in full. “Oof,” he says. The bruising extends down a good part of Jūshirō’s upper arm, and the joint of the shoulder is absolutely not where it should be.

“Yes,” Shimizu Mai agrees, “not very nice at all.” She leans in close to Jūshirō, and the hand that was previously engaged with his hair slides down to rest on his cheek. “Shirō-kun?” she says, and the tenderness in her voice brings about that unpleasant pang in Shunsui’s breast once again. Jūshirō remains still. “Shirō-kun,” she repeats softly, “this is going to hurt, all right?” The breeze picks up again, and Jūshirō, despite the residual heat of the day, shivers as the air blows lightly across his sweat-soaked skin.  “Let’s make this fast,” says Shimizu Mai. “I don’t want him to catch a chill. You know what to do, Kyōraku-san?”

“More or less,” says Shunsui, positioning himself so that he can firmly grasp Jūshirō’s wrist and bicep at the same time. “You just – move it up this way. Kinda slow-ish. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“ ’kay. I’m goin’ for it.”

Shimizu Mai nods, and clings tightly to Jūshirō’s right hand. Shunsui feels some resistance as he begins to ease Jūshirō’s arm upwards. Jūshirō tenses, and his breath hitches for half a second. Shunsui stops. “It’s all right,” Shimizu Mai says to Shunsui, and he can see that she understands his hesitation. “You can keep going.” Shunsui does. As he pushes against Jūshirō’s arm, he hears Shimizu Mai whispering quietly to Jūshirō, small, meaningless words of comfort that, Shunsui believes, can’t possibly be doing as much good as she seems to think they are.

The pang in Shunsui’s breast returns in full force. _That does it._ Abruptly, he shoves Jūshirō’s arm into position, and he hears and feels a strong _pop_ when the joint moves into place. Jūshirō’s bright green eyes snap open. “ _Ah – !_ ” he gasps, and he sits bolt upright, blinking rapidly and seemingly unable to catch his breath.

“You’re all right, Shirō-kun,” says Shimizu Mai, placing one hand on Jūshirō’s chest and pushing him gently, forcing him to lay back down. Jūshirō grabs at his left shoulder with his right hand. His eyes have squeezed themselves shut again. A great, horrible, wrenching sequence of coughs shakes his entire body. “You’re all right,” Shimizu Mai repeats, regarding him with sympathetic eyes as he struggles. “Hush now, Shirō-kun – you’re all right – you’re all right – ”

Shunsui, still holding onto Jūshirō’s left arm, feels entirely helpless. _I… can’t do a damn thing_ , he thinks. And so, he watches, clinging hard to Jūshirō’s arm and hoping like mad for all of it to end.

And soon, much to Shunsui’s relief, it does. Jūshirō still trembles, but when his eyes open again, they are clear, and his breathing has eased. He lifts his head and looks around. He seems dazed. “Sh – _ah_ – Shun… ” he tries to say, but one last, small cough escapes him. He sighs. _“Shunsui!”_ he finally manages, and, bizarrely, a massive smile splits his ashen face.

“I – uh – y-yeah?” Shunsui stutters, caught more than a little off-guard. Shimizu Mai is observing closely, he sees. Probably, he figures, she’s wondering why Jūshirō hasn’t asked about her being here just yet. Shunsui can’t help but smile back at Jūshirō. He feels as though he’s achieved a little victory, somehow.

“That – that was incredible! That – Shunsui!” Jūshirō exclaims. “That was the best spar I’ve ever had in my _life!_ I – ” It’s only then that he notices the delicate hand still pressed against his chest. “Oh – ” he says, a little dumbly, looking down and then back up again. Green eyes meet blue, and Jūshirō’s smile softens. “Mai-chan…” 

“Hi, Shirō,” she says.

“Mai-chan!” says Jūshirō, and he clasps her hand in both of his own. “It’s wonderful to see you! What – what are you…?” And he looks around again, from Shunsui to Shimizu Mai, to, ultimately, the state of disarray of his clothes on the ground. “Oh,” he says again. He lets go of Shimizu Mai’s hand and sits up, leaning heavily on his right elbow.

“You fainted, Shirō-kun,” says Shimizu Mai. She moves to take one of Jūshirō’s hands again, but he shrugs and turns his face away from her, hastily pulling at his robe and draping it across his shoulders, wrapping the garment haphazardly around himself. He keeps his eyes cast down. Shadows darken beneath them, and along his sharp cheekbones. Shunsui catches himself staring, jarred somewhat by the sudden change in Jūshirō’s demeanor. _How can this be the same man I was sparring with less than an hour ago?_ Jūshirō looks so young, so small, so unsure, huddled here beneath the sunset.

“But – uh – only after you gave me one hell of a fight,” Shunsui tries. Slowly, Jūshirō turns his gaze upwards to meet Shunsui’s. “Uh – um. Best spar of my life, too, man.”

“You… you mean it?”

“Hell yeah. You’re a crazy-good swordsman, dude.”

A flicker of that smile again. “You too, Shunsui.”

“Heh. You flatter.”

“Maybe. But with good reason.”

Shimizu Mai clears her throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt, gentlemen,” she says, “but… Shirō-kun, are you all right now? I…” Shunsui sees her blush. _Now, that’s a mildly interesting turn of events._ “I was worried about you,” she confesses.

“I’m just fine, Mai-chan,” Jūshirō assures her. “After everything you’ve seen me through, you were worried about that little spell, were you?” He smiles fully and openly now. “Thank you, Mai-chan. You’re an incredible friend.” Shimizu Mai pushes her glasses higher up on her nose and chuckles quietly. The blush in her cheeks rises. _Oh, my gods,_ realizes Shunsui, who can’t tear his eyes away from the two of them, _she’s totally into him. And now that he’s awake, she’s all embarrassed about it. Now, that – that’s freakin’ adorable._ What’s even funnier, though, is the fact that Jūshirō clearly has no idea. _If he knew, he wouldn’t have said “friend,” probably. That’s the kiss of death when it comes to this shit._

“Mai!” shouts a voice from across the field. “Come on! It’ll be dark soon – let’s get started while we still have a little light!”

“Oh – ” says Shimizu Mai, turning to face the voice, “right! Coming!” She looks back to Jūshirō, and lays her hand on top of his one last time. “Please,” she says, “let me know if you need anything, Shirō-kun. Anything at all.”

Jūshirō nods. “I will, Mai-chan.”

“Good.” She rises – a little reluctantly, Shunsui thinks. “And if I hear that you’ve gone and overexerted yourself again, I’m going to be very angry, you know.”

“I know,” says Jūshirō, laughing. “I know.”

“I’m not kidding, Shirō-kun!” she calls over her shoulder as she strides away.

“I know that, too, Mai-chan!”

_“Good!”_

“Ha-ha – good indeed!” And with that, Jūshirō lets himself fall gently backwards, tucking his right arm behind his head and closing his green eyes once more. After a moment, he cringes faintly and, eyes still closed, says, “We should probably clear the field, shouldn’t we?”

Shunsui nods in agreement, then realizes that Jūshirō can’t see him doing so. “Yeah,” he says. “Probably…”

And, strangely, just as it did in the midst of their battle, time seems once again to stop for Shunsui. That ever-present springtime breeze tousles Jūshirō’s hair, which has dried a little now, and Shunsui finds that he can’t look away from Jūshirō’s peaceful form as he lays, face-up and leisurely-looking – and, Shunsui somehow realizes for the first time, very, very half-dressed – in the grass. It seems to Shunsui that he can see each and every fine line of muscle on the upper half of Jūshirō’s body – his arms, his neck, his chest, his stomach – and it seems, too, that Jūshirō’s figure is accented tremendously well by the red glow of the setting sun – Shunsui’s next breath shakes just a little – and he wonders – _W-what? Where did that thought COME from? What?_ – he wonders what it would be like to – _W-what?_ – to reach out and touch Jūshirō’s smooth skin – _What the HELL, Shunsui?_ – to run his coarse fingers through that soft, white hair –

“Shall we, then?”

Shunsui starts. Jūshirō sits up and begins to slip back into his undershirt and robe. He leaves both untucked as he gets to his feet – he sways just a little, and, after a second’s hesitation, Shunsui stands too, and seizes Jūshirō’s right shoulder and right hand, steadying him. Jūshirō turns his smile to Shunsui. “Thanks,” he says, but then, seeing Shunsui’s troubled face, adds, “Are you all right?”

“ ’Course I am,” Shunsui says. His voice is a little higher-pitched than usual. “Uh. Kind of a ridiculous question coming from you, pal, don’t’cha think?”

“Mmm. I suppose,” Jūshirō grants him. “You make a good point.”

As they walk to the edge of the field, Shunsui can practically hear the emptiness hanging in the air between them. “So,” says Shunsui, desperate to break the silence, “who was the girl?”

“Oh! Mai, you mean?” Jūshirō smiles again. “She’s a childhood friend of mine. We’ve known each other since I was… oh, about five years old, I think.”

“She’s pretty cute,” ventures Shunsui.

“She is, isn’t she?” Jūshirō agrees, quite nonchalantly.

“Uh.” Shunsui flicks his eyes towards Jūshirō. “So. You ever… uh…”

“Hmm?”

“Y’know,” Shunsui says, trying to make the conversation seem as man-to-man as possible, “you ever… like… you and her…”

“Oh, goodness, no!” says Jūshirō, the second that understanding dawns. “No, never. Mai’s just a friend. I’m sure she doesn’t think of me like that.” But the color rises in Jūshirō’s pale cheeks as he says the words.

Shunsui can’t help but laugh just a little. “I wouldn’t be too sure, man. I bet you could hit that if you wanted to.”

“Maybe,” says Jūshirō, but his tone implies that he doesn’t believe it. “ _If_ I wanted to.”

“Hold up a second,” says Shunsui. “You don’t?”

“Not really.”

“You serious, man?”

“She’s… not really my type, Shunsui.”

“No shit?”

“No… um. No… shit, Shunsui.”

“ _Damn_ …” Shunsui says, drawing out the word so that it has two or three syllables. “ ’Cuz she’s a freakin’ knockout, man. That dark hair… those curves… and those glasses, too – man, I dunno why, but I _love_ a girl with glasses…”

Jūshirō raises his black eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “if you’d like, I could put in a good word for you. I’m not sure whether she’s looking for anyone at the moment, but, ah – if you were interested in – ah – what’s the phrase? ‘Hitting that?’ – I’m sure I could nudge her in your direction.”

“Holy shit, dude – you mean it?”

“Of course.”

“That’s – that’s great! Thanks!”

“I’m can’t make any promises,” Jūshirō says, “but I’ll bring it up and see what happens. She _did_ instruct me quite firmly to let her know if I needed anything, after all,” he adds, with a cheeky little half-smile.

They’ve made it to the doors of the grounds now. Jūshirō looks back to the field, where Shimizu Mai and her sparring partner and a few other students have taken up their weapons in training. “Today was brilliant, Shunsui,” says Jūshirō.

“You’re crazy,” Shunsui blurts out in response.

“Hmm?”

“You’re crazy,” Shunsui repeats. “I knocked your shoulder outta place, and you keeled over and were totally out of it for, like, twenty minutes, and Katen Kyōkotsu…” he trails off. “Well,” he finishes quietly, “you know what she can do now. That… that can’t have been a whole lot of fun.”

But Jūshirō only lets his smile grow wider. “That’s exactly _why_ today was so brilliant, Shunsui,” he says. “You actually fought me. You didn’t hold back.”

Shunsui frowns once more, confused. “Why would I hold back?”

“Why would – ? I – you – ” Jūshirō stops. His smile disappears. He blinks a few times, reading Shunsui’s face very, very carefully. But then the smile returns, bigger than ever. “No reason,” he says. “No reason at all.”

The sun has sunk almost entirely. Red light in the sky gives way to faint lilac, and above that, a soft and darkening blue. Shunsui can see the first faint glimmers of stars overhead, blinking down at the training grounds. He fingers the hilt of Katen Kyōkotsu’s longer sword, curious, wondering. _I guess I owe you one, girl,_ he thinks. He senses her smugness, and her I-told-you-so-ness, and a faint tremor of something much, much more sinister beneath both – but he ignores all of that, and turns again to face Jūshirō, who still grins happily back at him. “Well,” he says, “it was my pleasure, man. I wasn’t just bein’ nice or anything when I said that was the best spar of my life.”

Jūshirō chuckles. “That’s good to hear,” he says. “Truly.”

Shunsui stands for a long moment, pulled in, as he always is, somehow, by those green eyes. “I…” he says. “I – I better get on home. Uh. Early class tomorrow. Y’know.”

“Oh – yes, of course. Please,” says Jūshirō, who pushes on one of the heavy double doors and holds it open, gentleman-like, for Shunsui.

“Uh – thanks,” Shunsui murmurs, the words awkward and muffled, as he walks forward. “I’ll – uh – I’ll see ya ’round, Jūshirō.”

Shunsui is almost all the way through the door when he hears Jūshirō’s voice behind him.

“So – um – ” 

His back is to Jūshirō completely, and Shunsui thinks that might be a good thing – that way, Jūshirō can’t see the massive, embarrassing, dopey-ass grin that slaps itself onto his face when he hears what Jūshirō says:

“Um. Same time next week?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said at the beginning - I think it's for the best if I stray away from the whole teaser/preview thing. Clearly, my brain is just gonna make me write whatever it feels like when it comes to these guys. Probably because it's my first chapter-y OTP fic, and my brain has a lot of feelings and ideas that aren't organizing themselves in the most... um... organized... fashion. 
> 
> That said - this little chapter was super nice to write. And it was my first foray into the slightly gratuitous, which was fun. I'm sort of in the process of figuring out how gratuitous I want to be in future chapters - I'm not exactly *intending* for the rating of this fic to go up as a result of future installments, but I'm not entirely sure it won't happen. Not that his chapter was meant to be any indication of that - I'm just sayin', clothing was removed, no matter the context, and Shunsui got to be just a little sexually confused for a hot second. And both of those things were super fun for me. So. Y'know.
> 
> And, again, to those who were eagerly awaiting sake (if there are any of you - I have no idea, actually) - I'm so, so, SO sorry. There will be sake eventually! And plenty of it! I... just can't say *precisely* when. I can definitively say "soon" - but not *precisely* when. I'll make it a super awesome chapter so as to make it up to y'all. Once more, so, so sorry.
> 
> That said - I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And thank you, thank you, thank you, a million times over, for reading!


	6. Interlude: Violet Nightmare, Part I

Spring passes in a blur. Shunsui and Jūshirō make it to first blood properly the second time they spar – Jūshirō wins that fight, and all throughout that next week, Shunsui savors the thin red line on his upper arm that signifies Jūshirō’s victory, and whenever he feels lonely, or bored, or – or, well, anything at all, really – he brushes the shallow wound with curious fingers, as if cherishing some invaluable gift.

After that, Shunsui and Jūshirō spar weekly – sometimes more than weekly, when their schedules allow. Shunsui looks forward to their fights every time. They hone their skills, both those concerning general swordsmanship and those concerning their shikai, and Shunsui feels that his technique is improving, now that he’s found such an apt and able partner to spar with. He notices Jūshirō’s technique improving, too. And he also notices, and comes to adore and admire, the fact that Jūshirō rarely spars without a massive smile across his face.

It doesn’t happen often, but every now and then, Jūshirō’s body gives out before they can finish a match. Usually, he faints. When Jūshirō faints, it’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s easy – Shunsui learns quickly what to do when that happens, learns quickly how to help. He becomes extremely adept at carrying his unconscious sparring partner to the sidelines and waiting patiently for him to awaken. Sometimes Shunsui tries to nudge Jūshirō into consciousness by prodding Jūshirō’s spirit energy. He knows the pattern of Jūshirō’s spirit energy now, and has gradually pieced together the best way to weave the pattern of his own spirit energy into and around it, and it seems to Shunsui that, when he does so, Jūshirō’s return to wakefulness is swift, eager. And of course, when he wakes, Jūshirō always smiles. And Shunsui always smiles back, and he always hopes privately that Jūshirō didn’t hear the words Shunsui said in hushed tones when Jūshirō’s eyes were closed and when he was insensible to the world. “ _Shirō_ ,” Shunsui sometimes whispers, _“Shirō-kun.”_ And sometimes he dares to quietly clutch Jūshirō’s hand or, more recently, to run his calloused fingertips along his companion’s pale temple, marveling at the strength of his reiatsu and the softness of his skin. _“Shirō-kun...”_

But sometimes, Jūshirō coughs. It’s the coughing Shunsui hates the most. He hates it because he is helpless, because Jūshirō is helpless, because, when Jūshirō coughs, everything seems helpless. Shunsui can do nothing, and Jūshirō can only suffer. It tugs at Shunsui’s heart in a way he never thought possible when he watches Jūshirō shudder and quake and sink to the ground as he struggles to breathe. Shunsui sees Jūshirō’s pain, and during one particularly violent fit of coughs, he finds himself overcome by the urge to sweep Jūshirō into his arms and hold him, tight, safe. He doesn’t do it – he only kneels, silent and useless, beside Jūshirō, as he always does, and waits for it to pass – but afterwards, something inside Shunsui aches, and that urge never quite goes away.

Once, Shunsui waits on the training grounds for over an hour, but Jūshirō never shows up. After asking around, he learns that Jūshirō has spent the past three days in Squad Four. Shunsui feels a sharp spike of both alarm and curiosity, and when Jūshirō returns less than a week later, smiling face just a little more drawn than usual, Shunsui inquires gently after his condition, expressing his concern. But Jūshirō shrugs off the questions, preferring instead to shake his white head and draw his zanpakuto in preparation for their spar. “Don’t worry about me, Shunsui,” he says, green eyes weary, but bright. “I’m fine. I promise. _Please_ – don’t worry about me.” And Shunsui does as he asks; it is, he decides, a small price to pay for friendship.

Friendship – that’s what it is, Shunsui slowly realizes over the course of those few months. It’s difficult to explain, but Jūshirō puts Shunsui at ease in a way that none of his classmates or his drinking buddies ever have. Maybe it’s that goddamn smile of his. Maybe it’s the honesty in those green eyes. Or maybe it’s that unshakeable optimism – the fact that Jūshirō’s body fails him so regularly, and in such an extreme and debilitating way, and yet he never complains, and is, in fact, somehow always ready, instead, to laugh, or to make offhand comments about the shapes of the clouds overhead or the smell of flowers floating on the springtime breeze. Shunsui has no idea how or why, but Jūshirō faces life, which has clearly dealt him a remarkably rough hand, with grace and with hope. It is that extraordinary trait, Shunsui believes, that allows Jūshirō to stand up to Katen Kyōkotsu the way he does.

Shunsui can’t help but be a little bit awed. _He knows that some fucked-up piece of me manifested its fucked-up self as a bunch of fucked-up, freaky-ass, kill-ya-if-ya-lose games,_ he thinks. _He knows. He knows about my fucked-up shikai, and my –_ Shunsui bites his lip. He’s admitted it to himself before, but he hates it, hates it passionately. _Ohhh, god._ He finds himself very nearly on the verge of tears. If he’s honest, he doesn’t only hate it. He fears it, too.

 _Ukitake_ _Jūshirō knows about – about my –_

Shunsui squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to let the tears fall. _My fucked-up soul. He knows about my fucked-up soul._

_And… he just smiles at me and takes me as I am._

_And I didn’t do a damn thing to deserve it._

Spring fades into summer, and Shunsui is happy. For one of the first times he can remember since his childhood, Shunsui is, constantly and consistently, happy. Which isn’t to say that every day is filled to the brim with delight, of course – he still dreads attending his required lectures, and Katen Kyōkotsu is still as temperamental as ever, but these things bother him considerably less than they would have several months ago.

As promised, Jūshirō mentions Shunsui’s interest to Shimizu Mai. Shunsui meets her for drinks one night in the early summer, but the whole experience is a little underwhelming – they make some small talk, and after that, they mostly talk about Jūshirō, and before long, it becomes clear that they’re not the world’s most compatible conversationalists. So, Shunsui pays the bill, thanks her for her for a nice time, relishes the quick hug she gives him after he walks her home, and accepts very comfortably that there probably won’t be any further physical contact or, for that matter, a second date. _Oh, well,_ Shunsui had thought. _Here’s hoping for better luck with the next one, I guess._ This failed romantic venture would once have irked him for weeks; now, he can’t seem to find it within himself to care very much at all.

The summertime wears on, and the days grow both longer and hotter. Shunsui and Jūshirō have taken to meeting at least three times a week to spar. One Saturday afternoon, the air is so sticky and sweltering that, after about ten minutes of fighting, they stop briefly and agree to strip down to just their trousers, hoping that doing so might provide a little relief from the heat. It does, at first, but before long, the two of them are, predictably, drenched, bare skin gleaming with sweat under the oppressive summer sun. Jūshirō maneuvers especially well that day, Shunsui catches himself thinking, as he watches his white-haired companion move lithely from position to position, attacking and parrying and reposting and flash-stepping through the humid air. For his part, Shunsui finds his own movements a little unwieldly, his cuts a little shaky. _What the heck? Why’s my control so shot all of a sudden, huh?_ He feels Katen Kyōkotsu smirking. _WHAT?_ he asks her.

 _You’re distracted today_ , she responds disdainfully.

He considers. She’s right, he realizes. But – _That doesn’t make sense. Does it? Distracted? By what?!_ But just then, there’s Jūshirō, twin blades raised overhead, and Shunsui, seeing his opportunity, extends his right hand and slashes upwards, slicing Jūshirō across the ribs. Blood wells up instantly from the wound as Shunsui watches. _More of it than I thought there would be_ , realizes Shunsui. _Shit… Maybe… I WAS distracted…_ though by what, exactly, he still doesn’t know.

They float back down to the ground. Jūshirō returns Sōgyo no Kotowari to its sealed form, sets the weapon aside, sits heavily, and begins to explore the wound in his side, probing it cautiously with his fingers. Shunsui kneels tensely beside him. “Shit,” he says aloud now. “I… I didn’t mean for that cut to go so deep, man – ”

“It’s not so bad,” Jūshirō says, but a second later, he cringes and grits his teeth.

 _“Shit_ ,” says Shunsui again. “I – _shit_. I’m _sorry_. Here, let’s – let’s get that bandaged up, okay?”

"Oh - you - you don't have to - "

"Don't be a hero, man. C'mon."

The two of them flash-step to the sidelines, where a few basic medical kits are kept. “Uh,” Shunsui says, “you – you just sit there, and uh – sit still, and I’ll – uh – right…” Shunsui quickly cleans the wound, and then he fishes a roll of bandages out of the medical kit, and hands one end to Jūshirō. “Just – hold it there, okay? And I’ll – uh. Yeah…” He begins to wrap the bandage around Jūshirō’s torso, tugging at it to keep it taut. “I – uh – I guess this might be overkill,” Shunsui says, still feeling a little uneasy. “I mean – I – shit, dude, I’m sorry. I – uh – it’s nothin’ serious, but it’s still bleeding a lot, so I kinda thought – y’know, applying pressure and all – uh – ”

Jūshirō lays his free hand on Shunsui’s bare shoulder. “It’s completely fine,” he says, green eyes untroubled and gentle. “I know it was an accident. That’s just part of sparring to the first blood sometimes, isn’t it? And, like you said,” he adds, giving Shunsui that little smile of his, “it’s nothing serious.”

“I still feel really shitty about it, though.”

“Well, don’t. That’s a spectacular waste of your time and energy.”

“Ha.”

“I mean it, that – _ah! –_ a little too tight, there, Shunsui – ”

“Sorry, I’ll – ”

“No, no – it’s all right – I can – ”

“I’ll just – ”

They’ve both moved to secure the bandage at the same time. Shunsui’s hand is pressed against Jūshirō’s side, and Jūshirō’s hand, in turn, now rests on top of Shunsui’s. The roughness of Jūshirō’s hand surprises Shunsui – _though, it shouldn’t. He’s a swordsman, after all._ Shunsui doesn’t dare look at Jūshirō’s face. Instead, he keeps his gaze glued to the bandage, and slowly, deliberately, fixes it in place. It takes Jūshirō a moment to withdraw his hand from atop Shunsui’s, and Shunsui could swear that Jūshirō is trembling. Still, Shunsui doesn’t dare look up. It’s as if there might be some kind of truth in Jūshirō’s eyes that Shunsui doesn’t want to acknowledge, doesn’t want to be shown, and if he meets those eyes now, then he won’t have any choice. He swallows. He breathes. He can feel Jūshirō’s heartbeat through the bandages, through the layers of his skin and muscle and bone.

“Um,” mumbles Shunsui. “I – I think you’re good now.” He risks an upwards glance; Jūshirō’s eyes are as kind as they always are.

“Thanks,” Jūshirō says, his voice soft.

“Don’t…” Shunsui finds himself smiling, just a little. “Don’t mention it.”

That night, Shunsui gets hammered. He doesn’t mean to, exactly – but he meets a few of his friends at a dirty, dingy, old dive bar on the very edge of the Seireitei, and one of them buys the first round, and then Shunsui buys the second, and then someone else buys the third, and soon, their table is stacked high with empty jars and jugs, and their voices grow raucous and loud, and Shunsui’s mind gets all buzzy and hazy, and the shapes in the darkened room all start to blend pleasantly together. How many rounds do they demolish? Shunsui can’t say. Shunsui doesn’t particularly care, either – all he knows is that someone keeps shoving cups of sake into his hands, and so Shunsui keeps drinking. And he’s certainly not about to object – _can’t tarnish my reputation_ , Shunsui thinks. Obviously, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t drain every last drop.

That night, as nights often are, is dark. Shunsui, limbs heavy and heart beating fast and heat pulsing through his veins, falls exhausted onto his sleeping pallet, and he shuts his eyes, and he sleeps, like the unquiet dead.

That night, colors rage in flashes through Shunsui’s mind. Flashes of bright blue light, of majestic grey wind, swirling, sweeping across a rosy sky. Flashes of deep blue eyes, framed by glinting bronze. Flashes of crimson in the shapes of tassels and chains dangling from the hilts of shining silver weapons. Flashes of skin, both soft and calloused, both healthy pink and deathly pale – flashes of white – flashes, shocks, of kindly, overwhelming white – flashes of troubled white, something uncanny somehow astir in its breast – flashes of deep red on white – red _staining_ white – white turned ghastly red, irrevocably and irreparably and entirely – white overtaken by red, white drowning in red, in beautiful, _gorgeous_ , running red –

That night, Shunsui dreams.

 

***

 

_“Who is he?”_

_“What?”_

_“You heard me, Shunsui. Who is he?”_

_“I – what?”_

_“Really, now. You could at least try to answer honestly.”_

_“I don’t know what you’re – ”_

_“Yes,” she hisses, “You do. You can’t hide it from me, Shunsui. Not from me. I know everything about you – even the things you don’t know about yourself. Or… ” She pauses for effect and licks her lips, pink tongue trailing languidly over purple flesh. “Or, the things you don’t want to know about yourself. Ohhhh, the things I could tell you, Shunsui…”_

_She grins. The one-eyed witch grins. It is a wicked grin, full of malice and savor. But there is a vitality in it, too. A spark of humor, of delight. Something about that grin pulls at Shunsui. He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t want her. Something about her is wrong, so, so wrong…_

_And yet…_

_Something about her is so, so right, too._

_Shunsui is overcome. He reaches for her, thrusts his fingers into her mess of violet hair and forces her forward so that their foreheads touch. The smell of her overwhelms him, musky and thick, like pine needles and strong sake and stale, sticky sweets. She exhales, and he breathes in the air that she’s just expelled. He exhales the twice-tasted air, and she sucks it in and then does the same, rendering the breath thrice-tasted now. Together, they breathe. And they breathe and they breathe and they breathe, faster and faster and faster, trading the same breath hundreds of times, thousands of times, more times than are contained in hundreds of millions of lifetimes. Shunsui grows faint. “Please,” he wants to say, “please, let me go!” But he cannot. He tries to speak, but he has no voice. He prays, silently, with his wild grey eyes. “Free me,” he begs, without words. “Free me. Please… free me from this!”_

_“Oh, dear me,” she purrs, “it looks like someone’s misbehaving.”  She laughs, low in her throat. “You know as well as I do, Shunsui, that you have to play by my rules, or this won’t work. I believe I asked you a question – didn’t I?”_

_He wants to resist. Wants to – wants to –_

_“Didn’t I?”_

_And Shunsui nods, weakly._

_“You’ll play by my rules this time, Shunsui?”_

_He nods again – it’s all he can do._

_“What was my question?”_

_Shunsui knows that the ability to speak will return to him now. Now that he’s conceded. Now that he’s given himself over, fully and completely, to her. “You… you asked…”_

_“Yes?”_

_“You wanted to know who he is.”_

_“And?”_

_“He… he’s my friend.”_

_“WRONG!”_

_The blade pierces his back before Shunsui even considers that such a thing might happen. The younger one stands behind him, silent as she always is, peering up at Shunsui with one large, sympathetic eye. As his vision fades, Shunsui registers that she stands upon his shadow._

_“I… might have guessed…” murmurs Shunsui, feeling his knees give way beneath him._

_The older one grabs ferocious hold of the blade protruding from Shunsui’s chest. Using that, she wrenches Shunsui forward, and he lets out a yelp of pain. Her porcelain face splits into that wicked, wicked grin once more._

_“Kageoni,” she says._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been looking forward to this chapter for a while, actually - I wrote that Katen Kyōkotsu dream thing ages ago, and have been waiting for the right time/place to fit it in. So, yay. That's always fun.  
> Not a whole lot to say here - it is only an interlude kinda thing, after all. Poor Shunsui, though. I feel a little bit horrible for making him so clueless and unaware, but I think it's sort of necessary. Heh. Planning on switching back to Jūshirō's point of view at some point in the near future, too, for the record. This story has seen a lot of Shunsui's inner monologue lately, but not much from Jūshirō. Which is kinda funny, because while the two of them together are (obviously) my OTP, Jūshirō's kinda my main boy. I love him so much, guys. So much. (Also, he's been gone from the manga for so long. I really, really hope he's okay. Sigh...) Meh. Anyway. I probably enjoy writing Shunsui because I get to... like... admire Jūshirō through him vicariously? Or something?  
> Oh! And just to be clear - this is not the sake bit that I've been referring to for, like, forever. This is is just my brain going "Oh, hey, looks like Shunsui's just gonna get schwasted for two seconds." Heh :)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, friends! And enjoy!
> 
> *UPDATE*  
> Heyo, friends, I have a question. And I should say that the question contains mild *SPOILERS* for ch. 520 and beyond - so don't read any further if you don't want to see 'em!  
> My question is this - when did Unohana become captain of Squad Four? I kinda figure it happened sometime before/near-ish when the Academy was founded, because it seems to me that the founding of the Academy implies changes to the Gotei-13 and a level of organization and that may not have existed before, back when she was captain of Squad Eleven. Slightly more to the point - was she captain of Squad Four when Shunsui and Jūshirō were Academy students? I kinda feel like she was, but I'm not sure... anyone who knows and/or has a better guess, please let me know! Thanks!


	7. Grey, Part II: Eyes Like Stormclouds

Jūshirō likes the summertime.

To be fair, he also likes the springtime, and the autumn, and the winter, too, and he has a tendency to decide that whatever season it happens to be currently is his favorite, and then to promptly change his opinion on the subject approximately three months later. But there’s just something about summertime that puts an extra spring in Jūshirō’s step and sets his mind at ease in such a delightful and particular way. And this summer, Jūshirō has concluded, is the best of his life so far.

It’s his first summer away from home, and he’d be kidding himself if he said that the smell of grass on the warm wind and the glow of sunset on the Seireitei’s slanted rooftops didn’t sometimes bring about sharp pangs of homesickness, didn’t sometimes stir up dusky memories of dusty Rukongai streets, of running barefoot with his brothers and sisters beneath the shadows of ramshackle wooden houses, of lying on his back, huddled protectively between his mother and his father, gazing upwards and counting the stars, long, long after he should have been asleep. _But… those are only memories_ , Jūshirō muses. _They’re wonderful memories, but they’re memories all the same._ He squares his shoulders and caresses Sōgyo no Kotowari’s hilt with one hand and continues to stride, boldly, eagerly, straight ahead, towards the zanjutsu training grounds. He squints into the setting sun and sets his features into yet another little smile – but one which contains an odd mixture of contentment and something like resignation. _That was then. That time has passed. This – this is my life now._

And what a life it is. Jūshirō’s getting stronger, and he knows it. He’s sure that it doesn’t always seem that way, but he feels the gradual changes, subtle though they might be, within himself as he continues to spar with Shunsui. His body is just as faulty as ever, but Jūshirō has been deliberately and determinedly training his reiatsu to compensate. And, to his astonishment and delight, he’s had considerable success. The coughs still seize him from time to time – Jūshirō accepted long ago that there’s nothing he can do about that, and that there likely never will be – but his fainting spells have grown fewer and farther between. He pushes himself to the edge on a regular basis these days – _because Shunsui lets me_. His smile grows softer. What’s more, just where that edge is has shifted these past few months. Most significantly, Jūshirō has learned how to forestall unconsciousness with massive bursts of spirit energy in the middle of combat, and as a consequence, he’s able to fight longer and harder than he ever has before. It isn’t a perfect system, and Jūshirō knows he hasn’t quite mastered it yet, but it’s a definite improvement over passing out every time he uses one more flash-step than is, strictly speaking, wise. _Well, then,_ Jūshirō always thinks to himself in those few, fleeting seconds before he loses consciousness, _this is my limit today. This, this feeling, right here and right now – this is what I must surpass next time._ And he always does.

A mass of clouds roils in the east, stark, dark grey against a vaguely orange sky. _We’ll have strange shadows today_ , Jūshirō thinks. _That’ll be nice. Shunsui will like that._ Ever since Shunsui revealed to Jūshirō the power of Katen Kyōkotsu’s shikai, they’ve made a point of sparring in the late afternoons and early evenings, when the shadows are longest and – _I never imagined I’d think of shadows in quite such terms, ha-ha!_ – most easily accessible, so that Shunsui can practice his _Kageoni_ technique. Jūshirō has reflected before that it’s a shame that _Kageoni_ isn’t a two-person game like _Takaoni_ , and doesn’t involve any sort of ejection of energy for Sōgyo no Kotowari to absorb and send back like _Bushōgoma._ He can’t help but intrigued by the prospect of diving in and out of shadows himself, just to see what it’s like. _Maybe one day, eh, boys?_ he idly asks his zanpakuto. _Who knows what powers you’ll teach me as the years go by. In the future, we might even have a bankai! Won’t that be something?_

Jūshirō arrives at the training grounds first today. He takes seat on the sidelines and closes his eyes, savoring the smells and sounds of the Academy in summer. Today is one of his good days, he’s fairly certain. He feels strong today, capable, powerful, and reasonably sure that he’ll be able to rely on his body until the end of the spar. What might happen after, he can’t say – for all he knows, he’ll spend the night shaking, sleepless, overcome by coughs and cold sweats – but that doesn’t matter. The fight matters. Training matters. Overcoming his limits matters.

 _And_ , thinks Jūshirō, sensing a familiar spirit energy, and opening his eyes to reveal a tall figure strolling across the grass in his general direction, _Shunsui matters._

Jūshirō is proud of Shunsui – there’s no other way to put it. Shunsui, who once grew astoundingly defensive and afraid at the very mention of shikai, has now, Jūshirō thinks, begun to embrace his power. More than once he’s seen Shunsui smile as he bears down on Jūshirō with the force of his _Takaoni_ , or as he slips cleverly from shadow to shadow, rising out of the ground as if by devilry. Shunsui still holds little love for his zanpakuto – that much is obvious to Jūshirō – but the conspicuous and overwhelming fear that Shunsui once felt is, Jūshirō can see, gradually beginning to fade. _He’s going to be an incredible Soul Reaper,_ Jūshirō has thought before. _Just as soon as he learns to love this power of his. I have no doubt. None at all._ Jūshirō can’t help but laugh aloud as the next thought strikes him – _why, Kyōraku Shunsui is the sort of man who could probably change the world one day, without even meaning to!_

At the moment, though, Kyōraku Shunsui is frantically flapping his left arm up and down and leaning clumsily sideways as he meanders towards Jūshirō. He’s clearly trying to walk and wiggle out of his robe at the same time, and the whole process doesn’t seem to be going very smoothly. Jūshirō, whose own robe and undershirt are neatly folded right beside him, just watches, and does his best to contain a sequence of somewhat unrefined giggles. _Poor Shunsui_ , he thinks. _He’s trying so hard, but he looks so silly_. _And –_ Jūshirō averts his eyes for a moment. Though he would never express them to his new friend, these thoughts come to him from time to time. _And_ , thinks Jūshirō, _so terribly handsome, too_.

Jūshirō believes he’d have to be blind not to have noticed Shunsui’s rugged good looks and undeniable charm by now. Truth be told, he’d noticed both, in some small measure, at least, on the night they’d met – the night Shunsui had refused to return to the party and had insisted on helping Jūshirō make it safely back to his barracks. But he’s never seriously considered that Shunsui might be anything more than a friend. There are moments when Jūshirō has his doubts – moments when he feels Shunsui’s reiatsu spike oddly with no obvious explanation, moments when their arms brush up against each other, and Jūshirō can’t be sure whether it was accidental or deliberate – but those moments are rare, and Jūshirō knows he shouldn’t attribute too much value to them. Besides, their weeks of swordplay and banter and hell butterfly exchanges have revealed that it’s uncommon for Shunsui not to have some woman or other on his mind.

And that’s just fine with Jūshirō.  As far as Jūshirō is concerned, it’s hardly as though he’s settling for this straightforward friendship with Shunsui. On the contrary – he truly does love being Shunsui’s friend. Being Shunsui’s friend feels good, feels _right_ somehow. Shunsui is easy to be around, and for all his awkwardness, he’s surprisingly quick-witted and funny and kind. _And…_ and this is the best part, Jūshirō believes, the part that convinces him that he and Shunsui must have been meant to befriend each other, just as, weeks ago, he’d reflected that they had been meant to spar – _he doesn’t treat me differently. He – he doesn’t treat me like I’m sick. He helps me whenever I need him – and… and I’ve needed his help rather frequently since we started sparring together, haven’t I? But still… goodness knows why, but still… still… he treats me just like everybody else._

“Hiya, Jūshirō!” says Shunsui, who’s finally managed to both shrug out of the top half of his uniform and make it to where Jūshirō is sitting. “How ya doin’?”

“Very well, thanks,” says Jūshirō, rising. “How about you? How’d that exam go today?”

“Ugh.” Shunsui drags a hand across his face. “It was a doozy, man. Six short answer questions and one essay in two hours – what kinda teacher makes you _do_ that?

“One who’s especially interested in making sure you’ve mastered the material and can apply independent thought to what you’ve learned?” Shunsui stares, flatly and dead-eyed, into Jūshirō’s face. Jūshirō can only smile. “Sorry…” he adds, a little laugh breaking up the word.

“Ugh,” Shunsui says again. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

“In that case, so am I. For your sake.”

“Heh. Thanks, man.” Shunsui glances upwards. Seeing the clouds overhead, he says, “Looks like it’s gonna rain.”

At that moment, Jūshirō feels a tiny drop of water land on his nose. “Oh! Yes,” he says, glancing upwards himself. “I think you’re right about that.” As if in response, a low roll of thunder rumbles across the grounds.

“Then I say we get a move on.”

“Sounds reasonable to me.”

Shunsui rolls his neck back and forth a few times as they walk together to the middle of the field. “Gotta tell ya, man,” he says, “this is exactly what I need right now. After sitting in that goddamn stuffy classroom writing my ass off for two hours, I can’t _wait_ to beat the crap outta you.”

“And _I_ can’t wait to see you try.”

“Oh, yeah?” Shunsui looks Jūshirō up and down as they draw their weapons and take up their stances. “You’re feelin’ good today, aren’t ya, man?” Shunsui asks, the trace of a smile touching his lips.

“I – I am,” Jūshirō confesses. “Yes.”

“Yeah. I can tell. You’re even smiley-er than usual, ya weirdo.”

Jūshirō only shrugs. “What can I say?” A few more raindrops splash onto his skin. “I have a good feeling about today. And besides, I rather like the rain.”

“Of _course_ you do,” says Shunsui, rolling his eyes. “You like the rain, you like the sun, you like the spring, you like the summer – is there anything you _don’t_ like?”

Jūshirō considers the question. He knows Shunsui didn’t mean it seriously, but even so – “Not really,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, testing his stance.

“I kinda figured you might say that.” Shunsui’s sardonic little smile grows. “Ya weirdo.”

A crack of thunder, loud, sudden, and not very far away, splits the air. Jūshirō grins now – he can’t help it. He loves this. “We should get started,” he says. “Ready, Shunsui?”

“You betcha!”

“Excellent. Let’s go!”

 

***

 

Ten minutes later, it’s pouring.

Jūshirō is having the time of his life. He and Shunsui have sparred in the rain before, but never like this. The wind whips wildly across the grounds, tugging relentlessly at Jūshirō’s hair and trousers, and at the chain attached to Sōgyo no Kotowari’s twin hilts. He’s glad for the change, actually – it forces him to maneuver differently, in a way that’s more measured, more careful, but somehow, also, more improvisational. Form and control have always been Jūshirō’s primary focus, but today, those aspects of his technique only go so far. Today, at times, he can barely even see Shunsui, even though his companion is a mere few feet away, because the rain is so torrential and fierce. Today, he has to be a little creative.

And today, Shunsui’s shikai is only partially effective, because everything is swathed in shadow, and when the shadows that Shunsui has access to are uniform, Jūshirō knows, he has difficulty choosing which ones to manipulate. His _Bushōgoma_ does little good, because the wind of the storm is so vigorous – the few whirlwinds Shunsui has tried to send towards Jūshirō have been swept up by the weather and rendered more or less useless, and they’ve all but dissipated by the time they reach their intended destinations. His _Takaoni_ is still fully available to him, fortunately, and Jūshirō and Shunsui have engaged in their usual struggle for the higher position in the air, but beyond that, it’s almost as if they’re barely fighting with shikai at all. They’ve both released their weapons, of course, but all that means is that the competition has, from a technical standpoint, become a strictly physical one between Jūshirō’s slender twin blades and Shunsui’s heavy, notched scimitars. _We probably needed a fight like this_ , Jūshirō reflects. _It’s been quite a while since I’ve been able to focus on honing my swordplay skills using two swords instead of one._

All told, the spar is great fun. As the fight continues, Jūshirō experiments with the various attack and defense capacities of his two swords. He tries a few times to disarm Shunsui using the notches in his blades – and he manages to interlock his weapons with Shunsui’s and knock him off-balance twice, but each time, the results are only temporary. The way Jūshirō sees it, he’s only been partially successful. _Soon_ , he thinks, _soon. I just need practice. I’ll get there soon._

Shunsui appears behind him, slightly off to his left, and Jūshirō ducks down and twists about in the air, landing slightly above Shunsui, and comfortably out of his range. _I have the high ground now – good!_ Keeping his wrist loose, he sends the blade in his right hand speeding towards Shunsui’s shoulder, hoping he might draw blood there – not much, of course, but enough to grant him a victory. Shunsui shifts slightly, and starts to raise the weapon in his own right hand, but he’s squinting desperately through the rain, and he moves slowly – _Damn,_ thinks Jūshirō, unable to stop the motion of his sword, and seeing exactly where the blow is going to land. _Oh, goodness – Ohhh, no, no – I hope he doesn’t think I’m meaning to –_ and his blade smashes perfectly into Shunsui’s jaw. Shunsui’s head snaps back, and he lets out a raw, wrenching cry of pain. Jūshirō can’t move, and he can’t look away, either. _Damn_ , he thinks again, _damn, damn, damn –_  “Shunsui?” he shouts over the rain.

“Shut _up!_ ” cries Shunsui, bracing himself and hefting his blades. “It – _ahh,_ jeez, _fuck,_ that hurts – ” Shunsui looks down for the briefest of moments, but then he raises his face, and Jūshirō can see the steely resolution in his grey eyes, even through the pelting rain. “It fuckin’ happens, all right?” He does a quick take to the side and spits, and Jūshirō grimaces as he sees a foul-looking blob of red shoot out of Shunsui’s mouth and fall the ground. “And _that_ ,” says Shunsui, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, “does _not_ count as first blood. Got it?”

Jūshirō grins. The fire in Shunsui’s voice has done plenty to reassure him that his sparring partner is just fine. “Got it!” he says, but then he realizes that he’s talking to empty air. _He must have flash-stepped – where – ?_ Jūshirō looks up – Shunsui is above him again. _Okay,_ he thinks. _If I can block this attack, I think I can –_ Shunsui careens downwards, swinging the sword in his left hand. _Got it!_ Jūshirō catches Shunsui’s weapon with the notch in his blade and hurls his arm sideways, sending Shunsui flying, despite the advantage of his _Takaoni_. He follows Shunsui down, down, down, brandishing Sōgyo no Kotowari and aiming for Shunsui’s left side. _I think – almost –_ Shunsui dodges, and the sword in Jūshirō’s right hand misses, but he dives down below Shunsui, and finds himself facing Shunsui’s exposed back. The rain has soaked both of them to the bone by now, and Jūshirō catches himself staring as the water drips down over Shunsui’s sturdy figure. _I’ve missed my opportunity_ , he realizes vaguely as Shunsui turns, purpling jaw set and determined. _Oh, dear…_

“Coulda had me there, Jūshirō!” calls Shunsui. He starts to smile, but then he winces, the muscles in his jaw clearly offering painful resistance. “Slackin’ off, are ya?”

“Hardly, my friend!” replies Jūshirō, whirling around and swinging both of his blades at Shunsui’s right side this time.

“Nope – ” says Shunsui, parrying deftly and slipping one blade underneath the other, aiming for Jūshirō’s bare ribcage. _Whoa –_ the blade arrives inches away from Jūshirō’s skin, and it’s only by bending himself over double and thrusting his arms far out in front of him that Jūshirō is able to dodge the attack. Jūshirō is nearly horizontal now, and his weapons are still trained roughly on Shunsui. _I wonder…?_  Jūshirō rebounds off of the air and sends himself spinning towards Shunsui’s legs – _aha! Yes!_ Jūshirō extends his blades once again and draws them across the back of Shunsui’s calves. His identical swords make identical cuts in Shunsui’s trousers, and as he watches, he sees small patches of blood begin to stain the dark blue fabric of the uniform and drip down Shunsui’s legs. There seems to be quite a lot of it, but Jūshirō knows that Shunsui’s blood is mixing with the rain from the storm and spreading more rapidly than it otherwise would. It’s nothing to be concerned about, he’s certain.

Jūshirō swivels around to face Shunsui. “All right,” Shunsui says, breathing hard and raising one arm to shield his face from the rain. “I guess _that_ counts as first blood. Nice one, man.”

“How’s – ah – how’s your head, Shunsui? Your jaw?”

“Oh, that?” Shunsui replies. “Smarts like a motherfucker. No thanks to you, pal!”

“I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t even – don’t worry about it – waste of time, man – ”

“I didn’t mean to – ”

“Yeah, I know you didn’t. I dodged like an idiot. It’s probably more my fault than yours, if we wanna get technical.”

Jūshirō wipes a few errant drops of water out of his own face and shrugs. “Perhaps. But I’m sorry that it happened, all the same.” He squints at the doors of the training grounds, which lead, he knows, to a warm, dry hallway. “Let’s get inside,” he says, “and I’ll take a look at it.”

“Hey, man, there’s no need – seriously – I can just – ”

“Come on, Shunsui,” says Jūshirō, and he flash-steps to the doors. He knows Shunsui will follow.

Once inside, Shunsui leans hard against the wall and sinks to the floor, expelling a heavy breath and closing his eyes. He seems tired, Jūshirō thinks. _Perhaps he hasn’t been sleeping well? Or perhaps he’s simply overworked. The Academy classes aren’t exactly a walk in the park, after all._ Jūshirō sits opposite Shunsui, crossing his legs and cocking his head sideways. Shunsui’s jaw has swollen to twice its usual size on the left side, and it’s turned a nasty shade of dark blue. Tentatively, Jūshirō extends a hand and runs it along Shunsui’s jawline, trying to determine the specific location of the injury. “It’s broken,” he murmurs as Shunsui flinches unhelpfully at his touch, “not fractured. But cleanly, and only in one place.” He retracts his hand, and Shunsui lets out a pent-up sigh. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Huh?” says Shunsui faintly, grey eyes flickering open for a moment. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just stay still. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Broken bones – fuck _– owwww –_ _fuck!”_ shouts Shunsui, his voice echoing through the empty hallway. He meets Jūshirō’s eyes. “This straight-up sucks,” he says.

“I imagine,” Jūshirō says absently, stringing together in his mind the pieces of kido he’ll need.

“Thanks for the sympathy, dude,” Shunsui mutters through a half-closed mouth. “But for real – broken bones – that’s, like, Squad Four’s deal, isn’t it?”

“This is quite straightforward, Shunsui.”

“You’re a first-year Academy student. And you’re mostly in combat training. The fuck kinda business do you have knowing about broken bones and – _fuck – owwww – ”_

“You’re not helping,” Jūshirō says. “Don’t talk, Shunsui. It’ll be faster – not to mention less painful – if you don’t talk, all right?”

“Ok, but – ”

“Shunsui.” Jūshirō places his left hand on Shunsui’s right shoulder, gripping it firmly and hoping that Shunsui will meet his eyes. He does; in response, Jūshirō stares, hard, at his friend. “You trust me, don’t you?”

It takes Shunsui a second before he replies. Jūshirō feels that odd spike in Shunsui’s reiatsu and forces himself to maintain his steady gaze. “Yes,” Shunsui whispers. “Of course I do.”

“Good,” says Jūshirō placing his right hand on Shunsui’s jaw again. “This is simple. I promise. Just – do your best to relax. It’ll be over in a moment.”

“Okay,” Shunsui breathes, and he lets his eyes close again. He leans his head back against the wall. The procedure would, Jūshirō supposes, be a little easier if Shunsui kept his head in alignment, but the difference is minimal, and Jūshirō isn’t about to fight Shunsui over this small matter. Jūshirō summons the power he needs, and forces it to flow towards the cracked bones in Shunsui’s jaw. Shunsui twitches once or twice when it begins, his dark brow furrowing and his fists clenching and unclenching as he grows accustomed to the sensation. But before long, he truly does relax, and Jūshirō is able to work unhindered, using kido to stitch together the broken bones beneath Shunsui’s skin. His reiatsu shifts and twists, interlacing briefly with Shunsui’s, and Jūshirō can’t help but feel a small tickle of satisfaction as their spirit energies blend so seamlessly. He has nothing to compare it to, really, but something inside him feels certain that a connection like this is uncommon – his reiatsu and Shunsui’s dance effortlessly, alternately conjoining and making space for one another, flowing naturally into the gaps left behind as they move.

Jūshirō almost regrets it when it’s over. He’ll have to sever the connection between their spirit energies, he knows – and frankly, he doesn’t want to. But he does as he should, ending the flow of the kido and saying, “How’s that, Shunsui?”

Shunsui moves to touch his jaw, and Jūshirō realizes, about half a second too late, that his own hand is still making trembling contact with Shunsui’s unshaven face. He jerks his hand away – a little too quickly, he thinks – letting Shunsui explore the reparations on his own. “That’s…” Shunsui says, quietly, “that’s… fan-fucking-tastic! Feels even better than it did before, man!” He prods his face harder and harder, eyes widening, a smile appearing gradually upon his lips. “Who knew you had a knack for healing kido?”

“I… I’ve picked up a few things here and there,” Jūshirō admits.

“How’d you have the time, dude?” Shunsui asks, rising, and still rubbing his jaw. “I mean, with your course load, I don’t see how you coulda – ” and then Shunsui stops, freezing about halfway between standing and sitting and eying Jūshirō very, very carefully. “ _Ohhh_ ,” he says. “I gotcha… you mean, you… uh…”

“I’ve… spent my fair share of time around healing kido,” says Jūshirō. “Yes. I – that’s – I – ah. Yes. It – it’s useful, though!” he adds, and he makes a point of smiling at Shunsui as he gets to his feet. “And it – ah. It _is_ a skill that I’m glad to have. No – no matter the reason.”

“Yeah. Cool.” Shunsui gives Jūshirō a gentle smile of his own. “I feel that. And – I mean, I’m not about to complain,” he says, delicately fingering his jaw. A second later, though, he starts, and turns his head towards the doors. “Shit!” he exclaims, “our robes! We totally left ’em on the sidelines – they’re gettin’ soaked out there – ”

“Oh,” says Jūshirō, to whom that thought hadn’t occurred either. “Oh. Right – you – why don’t you stay here, I’ll run out and – ”

“I’ll come with you, ya idiot. I left my robe too.”

“There’s _really_ no sense in both of us getting soaked again, Shunsui – ”

“Tell ya what? I’ll race you!”

“I – what?”

“Race ya! C’mon!”

“Shunsui, it’s pouring rain out there. You’re being absolutely ridiculous – ”

“And therein lies the fun, my friend! Lighten up, Jūshirō – for a guy who smiles so much, you’re awful serious, y’know that?”

Jūshirō feels his cheeks growing warm. “I – well, I – ”

“C’ _mon!_ ” says Shunsui. “Let’s race! It’s my little shot at revenge, after you beat me so goddamn cruelly, all right?”

“I still don’t – ”

But Shunsui has already positioned himself at the doors, and is clearly ready to thrust himself out into the cascade of rain. “Looks like you wanna give me a head start!” he calls. “Have it your way, man! ’cuz I’m calling the beginning of this thing in three…. two…”

“Hey!” calls Jūshirō, sprinting to the doors, “wait up!”

“Oh – so you changed your mind after all?”

“Don’t feel too satisfied.”

“Tough luck, pal,” says Shunsui, smirking. “All right – I’ll start the countdown over, so it’s fair, ’kay? Three… two…”

Jūshirō glances sideways, and matches Shunsui’s smirk. This is crazy. This is preposterous. This is perfectly silly, and it makes no sense, none at all. But Jūshirō couldn’t be more thrilled. If someone had told him a year ago that a friend would be challenging him to a race, no matter how petty, he never would have believed it.

“…ONE!”

The two of them burst forth from the doors, dashing across the grounds through the torrential rain. Most of Jūshirō’s short hair whips back behind him, but a few strands fling into his face, temporarily obscuring his vision or flying awkwardly into his wide-open mouth. He lets out a whoop of laughter as he runs. He _never_ feels this reckless, never feels this free. He and Shunsui are neck and neck, and they’re closing quickly in on the crumpled and muddy forms of their white Academy robes. _Come on,_ he thinks, willing his legs to pump faster and faster and faster, _come on…_ but always, Shunsui is right there, matching him stride for stride. He catches Shunsui’s eye briefly, and a burst of laughter escapes from Shunsui, too. _Come on!_ But there’s not a chance. He and Shunsui are too evenly matched. Jūshirō skids across the grass, sliding in lopsided next to his robe, and he flops onto his back, clutching at the robe with one arm and spreading the other out wide, and letting the raindrops pour down upon him. His chest heaves, and he can’t get a steady breath in edgewise, but there’s no pain, no dangerous, flaring fire – as he suspected before, his body is serving him well today.

He grins like an absolute idiot, and he pokes his head up, looking for Shunsui. As it happens, Shunsui has landed more or less directly next to Jūshirō, but backwards – their heads are nearly touching, and a few pieces of Jūshirō’s straight, white hair have settled atop Shunsui’s thick, splayed-out, brown locks. Shunsui grins like an idiot, too, Jūshirō sees. As they lay together in the mud and the rain, Jūshirō’s gaze wanders, and, almost unconsciously, he traces the shapes of Shunsui’s muscular arms and torso, traces the curls of dark hair on his chest, traces each small movement of Shunsui’s reiatsu as it shifts and swells beneath the thunderstorm, whirling in that bizarre pattern all its own. Their eyes lock. Shunsui’s eyes are of the same color and temperament as the clouds above them, Jūshirō thinks – deep, swirling charcoal grey, and full of mystery, latent lightning sparks, and life. If he let himself, Jūshirō could get lost in those eyes. _Yes. Yes. I could get lost, and never come back._

It’s at moments like this that Jūshirō’s weakness surfaces, that he thinks to himself that maybe, just _maybe_ , Shunsui could be something more than a friend to him. _I… I want him,_ Jūshirō knows. He forces his reiatsu to remain steady, forces his breathing to remain even, calm. But even so – _I... I want to touch him. I want to feel his skin against mine, and taste his lips. I want to call his name in the dark, and I want to hear him call mine._ It’s unlikely – it’s absurd, even. Shunsui would never. Jūshirō’s certain of it. But still – those eyes – and just now, that – was that a spike in Shunsui’s reiatsu? Could Shunsui be thinking – maybe, just _maybe –_ could he – _could_ he – ?

But – _no_ , Jūshirō thinks, adamantly, turning away and peering upwards again. _You mustn’t go there, Jūshirō. Shunsui is your friend. He’s simply your friend – that’s all. What you have together is beautiful, just as it is. Don’t change it. Don’t throw it away._  

Shunsui shivers beside him, and Jūshirō looks back to his friend, making sure that his face appears gentle, simple, kind. “Are… are you all right?” Jūshirō asks, seeing Shunsui sit up and wrap his arms around himself.

“Yeah,” Shunsui says, quietly. His hair hangs down in front of his face in wild, frizzing waves. “I – sorry, man,” he continues. “I – uh. Katen Kyōkotsu decided that now was a good time for a two-second-long talking-to.”

“Oh,” says Jūshirō, sitting up himself. He knows that Shunsui’s relationship with his zanpakuto is somewhat strained, but he knows that it’s private, too, and he’s not about to pry. “I - I see.” He feels a vague chill creeping its way into his own bones. _I might suffer for this tonight_ , he thinks, reflecting on how much time he’s spent out in the rain, exposed to the elements. _I hope not, but there’s no telling, is there?_ “Well,” he says. “We – we’ve got our robes now. Time to go home?”

“Guess so,” says Shunsui, shifting to his feet with a groan. He looks back go Jūshirō and extends a hand. Jūshirō, heart beating fast, unable to do anything else, takes it, and Shunsui hauls him up. He says nothing; any words that might have flashed across his mind have stuck in his throat. He can’t even manage a simple _thank you_ , he finds – so, he smiles instead.

There’s no point in donning their drenched robes and undershirts, so they trudge back to the training grounds’ entranceway in just their trousers, neither one of them speaking. It’s an easy silence, though – for all his erratic thoughts earlier, Jūshirō finds that returning to this relaxed, default rhythm with Shunsui, whether verbal or not, isn’t terribly difficult. They leave the hall and emerge into the Seireitei together. They turn right at the same time, still without speaking, because that’s the direction in which both of their barracks are located. Jūshirō takes step after step automatically – right now, he doesn’t dare allow himself to think too much, lest his mind stray again into that dangerous, something-past-friendship territory. _It’s been happening more and more lately, hasn’t it?_ He’s sure he has the summertime heat to thank, at least partially; it’s been weeks since he and Shunsui have sparred in their full Academy uniforms, and because of that, Jūshirō has had ample opportunity recently to admire Shunsui’s dark, masculine figure. He’s a little embarrassed that he derives so much enjoyment from something so superficial, something so purely aesthetic, but he can’t quite help himself. _He’s just so… so…_ Jūshirō risks a sideways glance. Shunsui stares dead ahead, his chiseled features making a striking profile. _There’s just something about him. I don’t know what it is, but there’s… there’s something…_

Abruptly, Shunsui stops walking. Jūshirō almost slams right into him, lost in his thoughts as he was. “What are you…?” he starts to say, but then he follows Shunsui’s gaze.

“I,” says Shunsui, glancing upwards at the flickering neon sign above them, “have fabulous idea.”

“Um,” says Jūshirō. The words on the neon sign aren’t doing much to reassure him. “And what would this – ah – this fabulous idea – ah – ”

“Jūshirō,” says Shunsui, turning to his companion and, almost involuntarily, it seems, running a hand along his jaw again, “wanna grab a drink?”

“A – ah – a drink?” Jūshirō looks to the neon sign. Shunsui's meaning is perfectly clear, but – “You mean… ah…” he pauses, an awkward few seconds of silence filling the space between them. “Tea?” he tries.

“Tea?” repeats Shunsui, raising his eyebrows in a distinctly that’s-certainly-not-what-I-meant-and-you-know-it fashion. “Ah,” he says, “ _no_ , Jūshirō, I was thinking of something a little stronger than tea.”

“Then, you mean…” Jūshirō eyes the sign one more time – the sign that clearly spells out the words _Sake Bar_ – “sake?”

“What else?”

“But…it’s Tuesday.”

“So?”

“It’s… it’s a school night,” Jūshirō says, black brows knitting together. He’s torn – so utterly torn. Shunsui is asking him to have a drink – purely platonically, he has no doubt, but _still_ – and yet, he does have his duties as a student to consider -

“Right again, my friend,” Shunsui says, the beginnings of a smile playing about his face.

“You…” Jūshirō stops. His heartbeat is going wild, and his mind is on fire, and his skin is rapidly growing cold, cold, cold beneath the rain. “You… you want to drink sake… on a school night?”

“Your powers of deduction astound me,” replies Shunsui. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. That’s exactly what I was getting at.”

“But – ”

“Aww, c’mon, man – live a little! Besides, think about it – it’s cold out here, and it’s warm in there. And it’s been a rough day, man – for me, anyway. I know I could use a drink.” He considers. “Or two,” he amends. “Or, y’know. Seven.”

“Seven?”

“Uh. N-not really,” says Shunsui. “M-maybe not seven...” But Jūshirō sees right away that he’s being a little dishonest. _Somehow, I get the feeling that Kyōraku Shunsui could put away seven drinks with no problem whatsoever._

Jūshirō looks to the sign again. He peers through the rain at the warmly lit little bar – it seems cozy, he thinks, and there’s a definite alluring aura to the place. “Well…” he says, chewing his lip. _Go on, Jūshirō,_ he tells himself. _You’ve already made your decision, haven’t you?_ “Well, I…” he looks back to Shunsui. “You should know. I’ve never been much of a drinker.”

“Aww, no worries!” exclaims Shunsui. “I possess the remarkable ability to drink enough for both of us, I guarantee. Heh.”

“It’s still Tuesday, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Shunsui says, striding forward towards the door. “We’ll keep it classy, okay? How’s that sound?”

“I think,” says Jūshirō, “that the last time I had anything to drink was that first-year celebration party back in the spring.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Um. No?”

Shunsui laughs. “Shit, dude!” he says. “You take ‘never been much of a drinker’ to a whole new level! All right, all _right_ , how’s this – one drink, and then we’ll call it quits. Just a little somethin’ to warm us up before we head on home, okay?”

Jūshirō nods his white head in agreement. “O-okay,” he says, a little nervously. One drink on an empty stomach is much more than he’s ever been willing to indulge in on a Tuesday night, but there’s simply no way he can refuse Shunsui. _Yes. One drink_ , he thinks. _One drink on a Tuesday, and one drink only – that hardly makes me a delinquent._

“Awesome!” says Shunsui. “Oh – call ’em crazy, but I think the owners have a kind of no-shirt-no-shoes-no-service policy. So, uh – ” Shunsui wriggles one arm into his sopping wet robe, and then the other. “Well,” he says, as he tucks it into his trousers. “That’s awful comfy.”

When they’ve both redressed more or less successfully, Shunsui looks to Jūshirō, and Jūshirō offers a little half-smile, hoping he’s hiding his apprehension well. _Just one drink_ , he thinks, over and over again. _Just one drink. You’ll be fine, Jūshirō – it’s just one drink!_

Shunsui pushes the door open. The aromas of smoke and strong liquor and sweet sweat fill Jūshirō’s nose, and he looks around, a little awed at how jam-packed the place is – and he can’t help but let his half-smile grow into something bordering on genuine as the warmth washes over him, and as he and Shunsui approach the host’s stand set up at the front of the bar. Shunsui grasps the hand of the short, stout man standing behind it and gives him a giant, friendly grin. “Yo!” Shunsui shouts over the chatter of the bar. “Good to see ya again, pal! You got a table for two?” The little man nods and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Sweet!” declares Shunsui. “Thanks!” He turns back to Jūshirō. “C’mon,” he says, that wide smile still slapped across his face, those grey eyes still churning like storm clouds. “This way!”

Jūshirō swallows, feeling tremendously out of his element. _Just one drink,_ he thinks again. He watches Shunsui walk away, taking bold, confident steps across the room. _Damn, I – damn, but he’s handsome._ He looks back to Jūshirō and gives a little wave. _Just one drink_. Jūshirō wills himself not to worry, wills himself to smile, earnestly, the way Shunsui is smiling. _Just one drink. Just – as friends! Just one drink. Don’t be nervous – it’s just one drink!_

And with that, Ukitake Jūshirō, thunderstorm-drenched and heart all a-flutter on that rainy Tuesday night in the middle of the summer, follows Kyōraku Shunsui across the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um - I guess I like writing fights? Who knew!  
> It was nice to write from Jūshirō's point of view again - it's been awhile, as I imagine y'all know. This is the easiest time I've ever had writing Jūshirō, actually - Shunsui comes very naturally to me, for some reason, but Jūshirō usually takes quite a lot of piecing together. Not this time, though! Which was cool.  
> Not a whole lot to say here, really - but I suppose I can reveal that I did quite a lot of thinking before writing this chapter, and I sketched out quite a few little paragraphs about Jūshirō's... um... romantic life?... that didn't make it into the final version, but which will, I imagine, surface at some point. As in, his romantic life outside of Shunsui. Which, I like to imagine, exists. Or, could have. Y'know. Also, on a quasi-related note - I mentioned this in a comment to one lovely reader about a week ago, but I low key think Shunsui and Jūshirō in their Academy days were probably a lot like Keigo and Mizuiro, respectively. It kinda really works, when you think about it. Personalities, goals (or lack thereof), romantic tendencies, etc.  
> ...and/or, I might just love the idea of young Shunsui being a lot like Keigo.  
> And/or and/or, I might just love the idea of Jūshirō being well-liked and casually getting laid all the time.  
> Not really sure.  
> Ahem.  
> Anyway.  
> As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter! Much love to you all - thanks for reading!


	8. Clear, Like Sake

They’re seated at Shunsui’s second favorite table. His first favorite table is an ugly, squat, square thing that sprawls in a back corner of the bar, where he’s spent many a long night laughing and shouting and carousing with his classmates. A few of his buddies’ names, along with a few slightly less savory items, are carved into the wood there – Shunsui has yet to make a contribution himself, but he always gets a kick out of seeing what sorts of lewd images and turns of phrase his pals can come up with and, subsequently, render more or less immortal with their pocket-knives and dining utensils.

The table he and Jūshirō are sitting at tonight, though, is a slightly more refined one – _Well. About as refined as it gets in a joint like this_ , Shunsui reflects, looking around once more at the heavyset gentlemen past their prime, at the quick-eyed, desperate women with their necklines too low and their skirts too short, and at the multitude of, too-cool-for-school, devil-may-care-type Academy students who make up the majority of the clientele. Their table is a small, round one, barely big enough to accommodate two people, really, and it sits against the wall on the bar’s left side, out of the way of the crowd – which, Shunsui thinks to himself, is pretty sizeable for a Tuesday, all things considered. _Huh. Who knows? Maybe it’s a summertime thing._

He stares lovingly at the trusty table and fingers his nearly empty cup of sake – this table, he reflects, has led to more than a few enjoyable evenings. Usually, when he spots a pretty girl across the room from his raucous spot in the back corner, Shunsui sidles over to her, sweet-talks for a bit, and manages to drag her over here, to a place where they can actually have a conversation – and where their hands might just, by chance, bump against each other a time or two, or where their crossed legs on their ratty cushions might just get cramped enough to stretch out and mingle, toes dancing against toes, on the dirty floor.  It’s not like every single girl he brings to this table goes home with him – he’s realistic enough to know that that would be a remarkable feat for just about anybody – but it’s not like every single girl has left him all on his lonesome, either. It’s a good table with a pretty decent record, Shunsui thinks. He can’t help but be at least a little fond of it.

Which isn’t to say, obviously, that that’s the only thing such a table can be used for. He’s had a good number of long, deep, late-night chats with his friends individually at this table, too. _Usually, though_ , thinks Shunsui, a little morosely, _those chats happen over more than just one cup of sake._

For what it’s worth, Jūshirō seems to be enjoying himself. He’s sipping his sake painfully slowly, and Shunsui has had to check himself in a pretty big way – _I’m usually at least three drinks deep after this much time has passed. Sheesh. This guy wasn’t kidding when he said he’d never been much of a drinker, huh?_ Despite that, their conversation has flowed without stopping ever since they sat down, and Jūshirō has even admitted that he’s enjoying the flavor of the sake Shunsui chose. Shunsui eyes his cup warily. _I’m not feelin’ a damn thing_ , he thinks. _It’s tasty, I guess, but what’s the point of drinking if you don’t work up a little buzz?_

“… which isn’t to say that I _dislike_ my mother’s sukiyaki,” Jūshirō’s saying, “it’s just that I like my father’s slightly more. Of course – ”

Shunsui drains his sake. _Oh, gods._ He really wants another cup. _I know I told the guy “just one drink,” but damn if that’s not a hard promise to keep –_

“– it’s only _slightly_ , mind you – I think it’s to do with the broth, really – ”

 _Aha…_ Shunsui’s got it. He knows how to get that second cup.

“– because” Jūshirō continues, “you can really taste the beef in the broth the way my father makes it – ”

“Y’know what?” Shunsui cuts in. “I’ve just had fabulous idea number two of the night. All this talkin’ about your parents’ home cooking has made me realize how freakin’ hungry I am. How ’bout you, man? Whaddya say we order something to eat?”

“Oh!” Jūshirō stops and furrows his brow for a moment, considering. “Yes,” he says, “now that you mention it, I’m a little hungry myself.”

“You should be. Considering you spent most of your afternoon pounding the living snot outta me.”

“Oh, come now – you’re just sore because I won today.”

“Am _not_ ,” insists Shunsui, whacking his cup down hard on the table. “I’m just callin’ it like it is! Oh – and,” he adds, “I never told you – mostly ’cuz I was so concerned with the fact that my jaw got all banged outta place – thanks again for that, by the way – that was a pretty sweet move you pulled at the end of our fight. That thing where you bounced off the air or whatever? What – uh – what did you do, exactly? It happened so fast that I couldn’t really see it – ”

“Ah,” says Jūshirō. “At the very, very end you mean? It had to do with air currents, mostly – that and angle of rebound, I suppose – not to mention the angles of my swords – ”

“Okay,” says Shunsui, “but I figure you had to factor in distance and shit, right? Like, where you’d stop, y’know? How’d you…”

And they’re off again, exchanging words even more easily than they exchange blows. Shunsui hails a waitress when she walks by, and he orders a massive platter of fried noodles with pork and vegetables – “Trust me,” he says, “it’s greasy as fuck and it looks disgusting, but it hits the freakin’ spot like none other” – and a smallish jug of expensive sake to go with it – “because you haven’t _lived_ until you’ve tasted this shit, Jūshirō. I’m _serious_.” Shunsui sees Jūshirō bite his lip nervously when he orders the sake, but Shunsui only smirks. _It’ll be good for him_ , he thinks. It occurs to Shunsui to wonder if Jūshirō has ever been drunk before. _Call me crazy, but I feel kinda like he hasn’t…_

The sake arrives before the food does. “Hey, Jūshirō,” says Shunsui, “guess what?”

Jūshirō regards him carefully. “…ah. What?” he tries.

“Oh, you’re no fun! C’mon – guess!”

Jūshirō raises his eyebrows. “Okay,” he says, slowly, “I guess…” He does a quick take to the jug of sake, and then back to Shunsui. “I’m not sure I like it, but I’m _guessing_ that you’ve just had another one of your… ah… _fabulous_ ideas, Shunsui.”

“Nailed it!” says Shunsui, offering Jūshirō a wide grin. “Fabulous idea number _three_ of the evening, _thank_ you very much! Here,” he says, “gimme your cup.”

“My – oh,” says Jūshirō. “But – I haven’t even finished – ”

“You haven’t even finished your first drink?” Shunsui’s shocked. “ _Dude_ ,” he says. “We’ve been here for – like – almost an hour, and you’re still workin’ on your first drink?” Jūshirō nods, just once, green eyes wide and earnest. “Ohhh, boy. Yeah. Drink that down – nah, don’t give me that, just _do_ it, ’kay?”

Jūshirō’s frozen. He clutches the cup tightly in one hand, and his gaze flickers alternately between his drink and Shunsui.

“Look, I mean it, man,” Shunsui says. “What you’ve got there is pretty middle-of-the-road stuff, okay? This shit, though?" He reaches for the new jug and brandishes it with as much grace and adornment as he can muster without feeling totally ridiculous. “This is the _good_ stuff. I swear. If you liked _that_ ” – he gestures to Jūshirō’s cup – “you’re gonna _love_ ” – and he gestures to the jug – “this.”

“I… Shunsui, I… don’t know…” Jūshirō barely seems to have regained the ability to string a sentence together. “It’s… it’s still Tuesday, after all…”

“I freakin’ swear,” says Shunsui, his grin growing even wider, “if you say ‘Tuesday’ one more time, I’m gonna deck your skinny ass.”

“I… well, I…”

“All right,” says Shunsui, “y’know what? Fine.” And with that, he reaches across the table, grabs Jūshirō’s cup, and downs it himself. “There,” he says. “Now, promise me you’ll at least _try_ this, okay?” Jūshirō just stares, seeming completely caught off-guard. “Look,” Shunsui says, lowering his voice a bit and making his tone all soft and gentle, “it’s – it’s a personal favorite of mine, is all. And – and I actually think you’ll like it. Like, for real. O-okay?”

“Um. Ah… ” Jūshirō runs a frantic hand through his hair once, and then, half a second later, he does it again. _Shit_ , realizes Shunsui. _Dude’s nervous. Like, actually nervous. I – shit, okay… I…_

“Here,” says Shunsui, “watch.” He fills his own cup with sake, and then lifts it high in the air. “Fabulous idea number three,” he says, “was gonna be ‘raising a glass with a friend,’ or somethin’ like that. ’cuz… well, I… uh…” _Dammit_ , he thinks. _What do I wanna say?_ “Well. Basically, I just… I – uh – I’m… I’m really glad we’re… friends, Jūshirō. I – uh – I can’t put it better than that. I’m – I’m – I – uh – y’know what? Yeah. That’s what I’ve got.” And Shunsui smiles, one of the most honest smiles he’s ever given in his life. “I’m… really glad we’re friends.” He brings the cup to his lips. “You – uh…” he glances sidelong at Jūshirō, hoping, praying, that his toast might entice the poor guy. “You’re not gonna make me drink to friendship _alone_ , are ya? ’cuz that would be – ”

“Fill me up,” says Jūshirō, grasping his cup and proffering it to Shunsui.

“Now _that_ ,” says Shunsui, whose grin so big his cheeks hurt, “is more like it.” He fills Jūshirō’s cup to the brim, and gestures with a nod of his head for Jūshirō to raise it high in the air. “To – to friendship,” Shunsui says. “To – you and me. You and me, Jūshirō.”

“To friendship,” Jūshirō echoes. “And – ah – and – ” and there’s that smile again, that ghostly, wan, little half-smile, all averted eyes and half-raised lips, that Shunsui has come to know and love so well – “to – us. Shunsui. To – to _us_.”

Jūshirō’s eyes flicker upwards and meet Shunsui’s. Shunsui’s grin very nearly splits his face. Jūshirō’s grin matches it. Shunsui’s heart beats fast. Shunsui is happy. Shunsui feels warm. Shunsui feels incredible. Shunsui isn’t even drunk, and he feels more golden than a fucking sunset. _Yes_ , he thinks, touching his cup to Jūshirō’s and then knocking it back in one deft motion, thrilled to pieces and halfway unsure why.

 _Yes_ , Shunsui thinks. _Yes._

_Yes._

_To – to Jūshirō and me_.

_To us._

 

***

 

“You know what?” says Jūshirō, about an hour later. “I really _like_ sake!”

“Do you, now?” says Shunsui. “Why don’t ya tell me one more time, pal?”

Jūshirō’s lost count of how many drinks he’s had. He swore at the beginning that he’d only have one _– Just one drink_ , something deep, deep and long, long ago in his mind remembers – but after the third drink – _Or was it the fourth?_ – Jūshirō had forgotten his tally, and had, for one of the only times in his life, thrown caution utterly to the wind.

For what it’s worth, the sake _is_ awfully tasty. Shunsui hadn’t been kidding. The first cup he’d drunk down had been tolerable, but it had been a little too sharp for Jūshirō’s liking – it had clung unpleasantly to the front of his mouth, and had left his tongue dry and thick and stupid. But the second cup, and all of the cups after that – _why, those have been glorious_ , Jūshirō thinks. _It’s like dipping your feet in a cool pond on a hot summer day. Or letting the springtime breeze kiss your face, when you don’t even know you’ve been longing for a breeze the whole time._ Drinking sake like this is _easy_ somehow, is _natural_ somehow, and it aligns somehow with the entirety of his being in a way he never thought possible. There’s a certain freedom in it, and a certain luxury, too. Jūshirō gazes at Shunsui _– handsome Shunsui, handsome, wonderful Shunsui, who will never be mine, but who will always be my friend_ – and he smiles.

“Well! All right…” and Jūshirō giggles. “I _will_ say it again! I really _like_ sake!”

“You want another?” asks Shunsui, raising the jug. “I’m havin’ another.”

Jūshirō considers. “I… I’m not sure I should…”

“Aww, now – that’s what you said last time, man, remember?” says Shunsui, filling his own cup. “See this?” He wiggles the jug in front of Jūshirō’s face, and Jūshirō can hear the swish of liquid inside. “It ain’t empty yet – and we paid for the whole thing, didn’t we? Call it economical – we oughta get our money’s worth, right?”

“Well…”

“C’ _mon_ ,” Shunsui says, smiling. “Gimme that. One more won’t kill ya.” And before Jūshirō can respond, Shunsui has splashed the last of the sake into Jūshirō’s cup.

“Why, Kyōraku Shunsui,” says Jūshirō, leaning forward on the table, taking his cup in both of his nimble hands, and giving his friend what he hopes is a pointed look, “far be it from me to presume, but – ” He’s feeling bold, he realizes. An hour ago, he probably wouldn’t have said this. _No, I… I definitely wouldn’t have said… I… ah…_ “are…” For a moment, he hesitates. He’s started the sentence, though – he has to finish it, now. “…are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Uh,” says Shunsui, the sound muffled a little by the cup of sake pressed against his lips. Shunsui takes a swallow, wipes his mouth with one hand, and sets his cup delicately back on the table. “Uh – no,” he says, looking slightly confused. His eyes flicker up and down over Jūshirō. “Why do you ask, man? Are – wait, are you _getting_ drunk?”

 _YES!_ screams Jūshirō’s brain. “Ah – _nope!_ ” says Jūshirō’s mouth. “Nope! Not at all! I – I feel great! Honest!”

 “Oh, my gods,” says Shunsui, a laugh breaking through, “oh, my _gods_ – you totally are! Aren’t you?”

“ _No,_ I – ah – I – ah… ”

“You, my friend, are a _horrible_ liar.”

“Well – I – ”

“You’re gettin’ drunk, man! You _totally_ are!”

“I…” Jūshirō can feel his cheeks growing warm. “Well,” he says softly, “ _well_... maybe… maybe a _little_ …”

“Aww, s’all right, dude! It’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” Shunsui’s grey eyes soften. Jūshirō bites his lip and meets them. _I could… I could get lost…_ A wry smile comes over Shunsui’s rugged face. “You’re cute when you blush, though,” he says.

Jūshirō’s mouth drops open. “Ah – ” he manages. _What…?_ _Did he just … did he just say…?_ He knows his cheeks are getting redder and redder by the second. Jūshirō forces himself to laugh, just once _–_ and, totally at a loss for what to do next, he lifts his cup in the air and downs the whole thing in one swift swig. Shunsui gapes, that smile still squarely on his face. “That,” says Jūshirō, “was _lovely_. There’s – ah – there isn’t any more, is there?”

“I mean,” Shunsui says slowly, “it’s a bar. There’s always more if ya want it. But – whatever happened to ‘just one drink,’ huh?” he asks, humor glinting in his face.

“I think I abandoned that quite some time ago.”

“Listen, man,” says Shunsui, his smile fading slightly. “You don’t have to drink any more if you don’t want to, ’kay? If you’re feelin’ a little tipsy already, I’m not about to – I mean, _I’m_ always down for more, and I can order another jug, but – ”

“Arright, then,” says Jūshirō. _Ooh,_ he thinks. _Are my words slurring?_ “Another jug it is!”

Shunsui raises his eyebrows. “…you sure?”

“Completely.”

“So, you – you’re feelin’ all right? For real?”

“Com- _plete_ -ly.”

“Well…”

“Go on,” says Jūshirō. He’s still feeling bold – _I wonder – could I – ?_ – and he lays one hand on top of Shunsui’s. “Let’s have another round!”

And Jūshirō sees Shunsui smile again. “Okay,” he says. “If you say so.” And he raises his free hand to hail the waitress once more. “’scuse me, darlin’,” Shunsui drawls – _Oh, goodness,_ comes Jūshirō’s thought, _he – he’s kinda – he’s kinda sexy when he talks like that, isn’t he?_ –  “could we possibly trouble you for another jug of this fine, fine concoction here…?”

 

***

 

And so, they keep on drinking.

When the second jug of sake arrives, Jūshirō downs one more drink, and then offers his cup to Shunsui, asking wordlessly for his friend to fill his cup once more. Shunsui watches him closely. _Let’s see… how many is that for him? Six? Seven, maybe? Jeez…_ Shunsui can’t help but chuckle. _And he got all jumpy when I “seven” earlier. Heh._ Shunsui isn’t sure whether it’s a good idea, but he sees that little smile on Jūshirō’s face, sees that there’s still a good deal of focus and clarity in those green eyes – and so, he pours more sake into Jūshirō’s cup. “Thanks,” says Jūshirō, and he takes a small sip before setting his cup gently down on the table. _Looks like he’ll take this one slow,_ thinks Shunsui. _Good. That’s probably the right call._ Shunsui fills his own cup, too, and drinks it down – he fills it again, drinks it down again – and then he fills it one more time, and this time, he does as Jūshirō did, taking one small taste and then setting the cup aside. _How many is that for me?_ he wonders vaguely. _Ten? Eleven? Even – even twelve, maybe? Hmm…_

And as they keep on drinking, they keep on talking. They talk about combat techniques, about their classes, about a few of their favorite and least favorite instructors – but somewhere amid all of this, the conversation shifts. Shunsui makes a passing reference to his elder brother, and Jūshirō asks eagerly to know more. And so they talk about their families, and Shunsui learns, and promptly forgets, the names of all of Jūshirō’s younger siblings – _That’s one big family_ , he remembers thinking, _and it sounds like they all get along. That must be awful nice_ – and they even manage to work a little moral philosophy into the conversation, too, gently debating the respective merits of striving for the good of each individual and striving for the good of the population on the whole. Slowly, the sake jug gets emptier and emptier, and it occurs to Shunsui that he’s extremely content. He leans back and watches the Jūshirō as he speaks, green eyes sparkling, a faint, sake-induced flush in his cheeks. Shunsui sighs. _What a guy,_ he thinks. _What a guy…_

That’s when the girl sidles up to the table.

She’s got a pretty face and a head full of bright red curls and two gorgeous brown eyes, and she saunters along on a pair of legs that just won’t stop. Shunsui has no idea who she is, but – _Holy… holy shit_ , he thinks, openly staring.

The girl plops down unceremoniously next to Jūshirō. “Hiya, Ukitake-kun!” she says. “Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Jūshirō, after a slight delay, turns to her, a vaguely startled look on his face. “Oh!” he says, recognition dawning. “Well – well, hi!” He turns back to Shunsui. “Shunsui, this is Kitagawa-san – ah – Kitagawa Reiko, that is. We’re in the same group for kido practicals! And this – ” he turns back to the girl – “is Kyōraku Shunsui. He’s – we – he’s my – my – my _friend._ ” And Jūshirō offers her a lopsided little smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Kitagawa Reiko says to Shunsui. Shunsui tries to meet her eyes and give her a smile of his own, but before he can, she turns back to Jūshirō and leans in close – _closer than she needs to, probably. Jeez._ “I’m _so_ happy I caught you here, Ukitake-kun,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something!”

“Oh?”

“It’s about kido.” She sighs, and rests her cheek on one hand, tilting her head a little in Jūshirō’s direction.

"Well, sure!" says Jūshirō. "Sure - ask away!"

“I _just_ can’t figure out Bakudo for some reason," Kitagawa Reiko says. "Hado, I get – I could do Hado spells all day long if you asked me too – but there’s just _something_ super weird about Bakudo that I just can’t quite crack – y’know? And you’re _amazing_ at kido, Ukitake-kun, so… I thought…” And she blinks at him, big brown eyes no doubt boring into green. Not that Shunsui can see – Kitagawa Reiko has all but boxed him out by now. _And she’s flirting with Jūshirō, dammit. And here I was, thinkin’ I might have a chance…_ still, he supposes it must be nice for Jūshirō that a girl is demonstrating such conspicuous interest. _Good for him, I guess,_ thinks Shunsui. And he means it. He feels a faint prick of unpleasantness, yes – a faint prick of something not unlike what he felt on that day that Shimizu Mai helped him with Jūshirō’s shoulder, he realizes – but he means it.

“Oh!” Jūshirō exclaims. “Well! That’s not the first time I’ve heard of this problem, actually, Kitagawa-san!” Jūshirō considers his fellow student for a moment. “You see,” he explains, frowning a bit and speaking slowly – _Seems like he’s trying to compensate for all that sake,_ thinks Shunsui – “there’s something very, very _direct_ about Hado. Hado spells are exclusively offensive – you know this, I’m sure, but just to illustrate – ah – to _explain_ , more like – ” his frown deepens. “I can’t articulate it very well at the moment,” he says, “but there’s a subtlety to Bakudo that Hado simply doesn’t require – and – ”

“Are…” Kitagawa Reiko, smiling, and inching closer to Jūshirō, “…are you saying I’m not subtle, Ukitake-kun?”

“No – oh, no, not at all,” is Jūshirō’s calm reply. “I only meant – ”

“Because…” She’s close enough now that her arm brushes up against his, and her curls dangle down onto his shoulder. “I… find that subtlety isn’t _always_ the best thing, you know.” Her smile widens.

Jūshirō cocks his head to the side. _He looks… kinda confused,_ Shunsui thinks _. Why does he look confused? What’s there to be confused about?_ “But – ” Jūshirō says, “but – if you’re struggling with Bakudo, you – ”

“ _Sometimes,_ ” interrupts Kitagawa Reiko, “it’s _good_ to be a little more straightforward. A little more _direct._ Hado-style. You know what I’m saying?”

Jūshirō only stares. He pauses, for a long, long moment. In the end, he shakes his white head. “I… I’m afraid I don’t,” he says. “That simply won’t help you with Bakudo.” Shunsui gawps at him. _What the hell is he doing?! She’s hot! And she’s ready to jump his freakin’ bones!_ Jūshirō must sense that something’s amiss, because he turns to Shunsui, and, seeing his friend’s face, says, “Shunsui? What – what is it?”

“I – uh…” _Well. Speaking of subtlety, there’s no way I can be subtle about this, now, is there?_ “Uh,” Shunsui says again. “It’s – it’s nothin’, man. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” says Shunsui. “You should – uh – ”

“Hmm?”

 _Don’t make me say it, dude – you gotta be kidding –_ “You _know_ ,” he says, hoping Jūshirō will get the message before Shunsui makes an even bigger ass of himself.

“Ukitake-kun?” says Kitagawa Reiko. She lays a hand on Jūshirō arm, and Shunsui feels that sudden pang of unpleasantness again. _Guess I wanted her pretty bad. Well, goddamn – who knew?_ “You…. you think you can help me? With – with Bakudo?”

Neither of them is paying any attention to Shunsui now, so he seizes the sake jug and fills his cup again.

“ ’course I can,” Jūshirō says. “When are you free, Kitagawa-san?”

Shunsui tips his head back and downs the drink, relishing the burn of the stuff as it hits the back of his throat.

“I’m… free right _now_ , Ukitake-kun…”

 _Good fuckin’ grief_ , thinks Shunsui. He fills his cup again, drains it again.

Jūshirō laughs. “Now, that’s just silly!” he says. For her part, Kitagawa Reiko doesn’t seem to know whether to laugh or not. Her face falls a little, but she still maintains the vague semblance of a smile. “We’re not going to practice kido right _now!_ And – ah – well, maybe you can’t tell, but – ah – ” Jūshirō stops, and looks down for a moment. “I’ve – I’ve actually been _drinking_ , you see, and I’m not sure that kido is – ah – that is to say, I’m not sure that I’m – ”

“Oh, I don’t mind that,” she says, and she runs her hand down Jūshirō’s arm, and then back up again – down and up, down and up, twice, three times – Shunsui, watching, can hardly stand it – he clenches and unclenches his recently broken, recently repaired jaw, and seethes silently – “In fact, I thought – ”

“How about Thursday morning?” Jūshirō asks.

“Uh.” Kitagawa Reiko’s hand stops moving. “Uh. Th-thursday… morning?”

“Mm-hmm,” says Jūshirō. “Thursday morning. We can meet in one of the kido halls. Say, seven o’clock? Or eight, perhaps – I could do eight, I suppose – just as long as we’re finished by nine. I have class at nine-thirty.”

“Thursday… morning,” she repeats. “In… the kido halls.”

“Yep!” says Jūshirō, smiling wide. “That’s the best place to practice kido, don’t you think?”

“I… guess that’s true…”

“Perfect! Then, it’s settled! Is – is seven all right?’

“Seven’s… just fine,” she says. She rises and looks down at Jūshirō. _Now she’s the one who’s confused_ , Shunsui thinks. _Tch. Serves her right for not giving me a second glance._ As if she can read his mind, Kitagawa Reiko’s gaze flicks briefly to Shunsui. _She looks like she’s gonna say something…_ but she only frowns, and shakes that bouncy, red head of hers, and turns away.

Shunsui is about to launch into a full-fledged inquisition, but then Kitagawa Reiko looks back to Jūshirō one more time. “My friends told me it was hopeless,” she says, “but I didn’t believe them. I… I guess they were right. I’ll… see you on Thursday, Ukitake-kun.”

Jūshirō looks all baffled again. Shunsui stares intently at him from across the table, and he waits. When Jūshirō says nothing, Shunsui finally asks – “What the _fuck_ was _that?”_

“W-what?”

“What’s the deal, dude? Is – is she not your type either or something?”

“Huh?” says Jūshirō, the confused expression on his face growing even more pronounced. “My – my – what? What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“What would I be joking about?”

 _“Dude,”_ says Shunsui, “are – are you for real? She – Jūshirō, she – she wanted to go home with you tonight. You know that, right?”

“No, she didn’t,” says Jūshirō. “She wanted help with kido – didn’t you hear?”

“Jūshirō, _no_ – that’s what she _said_ , maybe – but – like – you seriously weren’t picking up what she was throwin’ down? _Seriously?_ ”

“I… she… she was talking about _kido_ …” Jūshirō says softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, she was. She was talking about kido, but what she _wanted_ was – ” Shunsui can’t say it again. He isn’t sure why, but he just can’t. “Look, I guess it doesn’t matter, but like… holy _shit_ , dude. That’s a missed opportunity if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Oh…” says Jūshirō, craning his neck to look across the bar at where Kitagawa Reiko has sat back down with her friends. “You… you don’t think I hurt her feelings, do you?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?”

Jūshirō just sighs, and lets his head drop into his hands.

“For what it’s worth,” Shunsui grumbles, filling his own cup once again, “I totally woulda hit that if I’d had that kinda chance.”

“I know you would have,” Jūshirō whispers.

Something about that whisper startles Shunsui. He looks to his friend, whose eyes are cast down and whose face has been instantly transformed by – _by what?_ It’s something almost like sadness, Shunsui thinks, profound and unmistakable and very, very real. _Shit…_ _That… took a turn real fast. But – but why? What – what the hell? W-why?_

“Hey…” says Shunsui, gently. He almost reaches across the table – he starts to, but something stops his hand – it hovers in the air between him and Jūshirō. “Hey,” he says again. “What’s… what’s up, dude?”

“It’s nothing,” says Jūshirō, still in that same, sorrowful whisper.

“You feelin’ okay?”

“Physically? Fine, thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Shunsui rests his hand on Jūshirō’s forearm. Jūshirō starts. “Hey,” Shunsui says, one more time, “whaddya say we call it a night? We’ve done a pretty commendable amount of damage here, if I do say so myself,” he adds, tipping the sake jug upside down to show Jūshirō that it’s totally empty.

“…all right.” Jūshirō stands – or, he begins to – but he can’t quite seem to make it fully to his feet. Shunsui, who has, he’s certain, more experience with maneuvering when he’s less than sober, rises and offers Jūshirō his hand. Jūshirō stares at the hand for a good few seconds, and then mumbles, “Thank you,” pulling himself forward and up. He still looks a little unsteady, and so Shunsui slips an arm around Jūshirō’s slender waist and helps his friend stumble towards the door.

“I gotcha,” Shunsui says quietly. “It’s okay – I gotcha. C’mon, Jūshirō – let’s go home.”

 

***

 

It’s still raining.

Jūshirō finds himself very nearly on the verge of tears.  _I_ , he thinks to himself as they stagger through the drenched Seireitei streets, _do not like sake._

Physically, he does feel fine – he’d been perfectly honest about that when Shunsui had asked – but inside, Jūshirō feels like he’s crumbling. _I hurt Kitagawa-san’s feelings_ , he thinks. _I know I did. And all because… because…_ he leans heavily into the strong arm wrapped around him, certain that it’s as much contact as he’ll ever get. _Because I couldn’t stop thinking about Shunsui. I… I was inconsiderate, and I was stupid. Damn – damn, damn, DAMN – damn me for a fool…_ whether the tears begin to fall or not, Jūshirō can’t say. All he knows is that, if he is indeed crying, the rain will hide it. He’s thankful for that, at least.

He lets Shunsui guide him home. He doesn’t pay attention to where they’re going; he trusts that Shunsui knows the way. He risks a quick glance every now and then at Shunsui’s face – _that handsome face. That handsome man. That brilliant, wonderful, powerful, handsome man –_ but doing so only makes him sadder and sadder. Jūshirō aches, verily, verily aches. _I knew before tonight that I wanted him_ , he thinks. _But I…  I never knew it was like this… I never knew it was quite so horrible as… as this…_ Maybe, he reflects, it’s thanks to the sake. It's as if the sake has stripped everything superfluous away from his desires, made them sharp, clear – _Yes. Made them clear. Clear, clear, clear – just like that foul, foul sake._

Jūshirō curses himself again. He knows that the tears are falling now.

He almost wishes that Shunsui would let him go, would let him be – would let him cough and quake and fall to the ground on his own when his body fails him, would let him suffer in solitary silence – _what did I ever do to deserve that kindness?_ Jūshirō wonders. It would be easier, he knows, if Shunsui were neglectful, if he were cruel, even. If he were a sparring partner, and nothing more. _But…_ Jūshirō looks to Shunsui again. _But he isn’t. He’s – he’s my friend, and he is kind. I – I have to accept that. I have to. Nothing will ever happen between us – Shunsui doesn’t work that way, I know he doesn’t – I know he doesn’t – I know –_

Out of nowhere, Jūshirō's foot catches on a loose cobblestone. He smashes into Shunsui, who reaches for Jūshirō with both hands while making a colossal effort to keep himself upright, too – he fails - he flails – Jūshirō falls, and then Shunsui falls, and they both hit the ground, knees first, as the rain pours down relentlessly upon them.

Shunsui’s still holding onto Jūshirō. He has Jūshirō’s right hand clutched in his own, and his left digs into Jūshirō’s upper arm, fingers clamped tight, as if Shunsui is afraid that Jūshirō might somehow fall again from where he kneels.

And then -

Jūshirō’s eyes grow wide.

Shunsui’s reiatsu – it spikes.

There’s no reason for it to have done so – but it spikes.

Jūshirō’s hair covers his face. He can’t see very well through the mess of white, but he thinks – he _thinks_ – that there's a small, subtle change in Shunsui's expression - a certain softening, a certain – a certain – _something_ –

 _No,_ Jūshirō tells himself. _I’m imagining this. I’m hoping against all hope, and so I’m imagining this. Shunsui’s not thinking of that. He’s – he’s not. He can’t be. He couldn’t be…_

Could he?

Jūshirō can scarcely breathe. _Something… something is happening here._ Cautiously, wavering a little because he’s still so damn drunk, Jūshirō urges a tendril of his spirit energy towards Shunsui’s. The energies meet – something sparks – Jūshirō gasps. Shunsui gasps, too. _What… w-what….? C-could he…?_ Jūshirō feels feverish. He feels his control slipping. Control of his reiatsu, control of his body, control of his emotions – control of everything, _everything_ – if he speaks, he fears he won’t have control of his words, either, and so he stays silent, praying desperately that maybe, maybe, _maybe…_

He doesn’t know what else to do.

He clings hard to Shunsui’s hand.

He shivers – though whether from the cool rain or from something else entirely, he doesn’t know.

He trembles.

And he keeps breathing – somehow, _somehow_ , he remembers to breathe –

And Ukitake Jūshirō waits.

 

***

 

Shunsui feels it, too.

He feels his reiatsu surge, unbidden. He feels the contact from Jūshirō’s spirit energy, feels that uncanny flicker of desperation, of fire, of _life_ when it touches his own. He feels Jūshirō’s gasp. He feels his own gasp, deep in his chest. He feels the rain, the millions of tiny drops of rain, dancing upon his skin as they kneel in the street. He feels Jūshirō’s hand close tight upon his own.

And inside, Shunsui feels…

_What? What is… what?_

Shunsui feels…

_I’ve never felt like this before. What… what is this? What the FUCK is this?_

He gazes fiercely at Jūshirō, searching like mad for answers. Jūshirō looks haunted, Shunsui thinks, nearly like a man possessed – haunted, wanting, yearning – _He wants something_ , Shunsui sees. _He – he needs something. It’s down in the very core of him, goddammit – I can tell – I can tell – but – but he’ll never say what it is, he – he – he’ll never say. He’ll never. He – he – he doesn’t value himself enough for that. He’s too polite for that. He’ll never say it. He’ll never say it… He…_

Jūshirō barely looks like himself. Those magnetic eyes, green rimmed with raw red, gazing bright, right out of the darkness at Shunsui, so, _so_ full of that sadness, but full of something almost like desire, too – the way he shakes and shudders, drawing breath after ragged breath beneath the black, storming sky – the way his hair sticks to his skin, straight, dripping white strands glued by rainwater to his forehead and to his sunken cheeks – surely, Shunsui thinks, with that much hair in his face, his vision is obscured – surely – _How… how can he see? That… that can’t be very…_

Something happens then.

_Something… what…?_

Something changes. Something shifts. Something – _something –_ grabs vicious hold of Shunsui, something _strong_ , something earnest, something tremendously raw – something – something – _something – I – he – I –_ and before he truly knows what he’s doing, Shunsui is reaching for Jūshirō, tentatively, with his right hand, and he’s gently, tenderly, brushing the hair away from Jūshirō’s pale face – _I – I want to see that face –_ tucking it gingerly behind one ear – _I want to see his eyes –_ the tips of all five fingers making quivering contact – _Gods, he’s cold, he’s so cold –_ and then, when Jūshirō’s white hair has all been cleared away, Shunsui finds that he can’t pull his hand back. He wants to pull it back – he thinks he does – he –

Does he?

 _Do I? Do I, truly? Is… is that what I want?_ It’s what he _should_ want, he’s certain, but something – _That goddamn something… I…_ He tries again to pull his hand back – he does, he really, really does – and again, he fails.  

 _I… I want, too_ , Shunsui realizes. _Just like Jūshirō wants._

_I want._

_I… yes, I…_

_I want…_

_I want…_

_I…_

_But WHAT do I want?_

_Oh, gods…_

_I…_

As if of its own accord, his hand begins to explore the shapes of Jūshirō’s handsomely wrought features. _What do I want?_ His hand runs curiously along Jūshirō’s jawline on one side, and then the other, gliding up to trace Jūshirō’s forehead – _W-what do I –_ and that peculiar black brow – _W-what do I want?_ –  unconsciously, unthinking, unable to stop himself, he draws small, delicate circles around each of Jūshirō’s deep, green eyes – _What do I want? –_ and then Shunsui’s left hand, quivering just as much as his right, joins the game, and it mirrors the actions of Shunsui’s right hand exactly, ghosting over the crevices of Jūshirō’s kind and longing visage with that careful, feather-light touch –

And Jūshirō stares, only stares. His bright eyes are fixed firmly on Shunsui’s, and they burn, Shunsui thinks, burn with questions, burn with – _with – with what? What’s in those eyes? What’s he thinking? What – how – what –_ Jūshirō’s breathing has grown unsteady, terribly unsteady, but not in a way that strikes Shunsui as dangerous – _no – not dangerous, no – he won’t collapse here, I know that much –_ and when Shunsui allows one of his hands travel down to brush the side of Jūshirō’s neck, allows his shaking fingers to sketch thin lines on Jūshirō’s skin until they rest upon the front of his throat, Shunsui feels his pulse, wild, erratic, fast, fast, _fast,_ like a drum pounding, rattling, beneath his rain-soaked flesh – and always, always, those green eyes stare – _those beautiful, beautiful eyes –_ Jūshirō’s lips are parted softly, as if in surprise –

Suddenly, everything is clear.

_I…_

Shunsui gasps.

_Clear as goddamn day…_

Shunsui blinks.

_I…_

Shunsui’s breath catches –

_Clear, like the color of sake... go fuckin’ figure…_

Shunsui’s heartbeat races, races like mad –

_I…_

_I know what I want._

Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, Shunsui’s left hand slides behind Jūshirō’s head, fingers snagging slightly as they run through the tangles of wet, white hair. His right hand, Shunsui rests against Jūshirō’s cheek. Petrified, he caresses Jūshirō’s skin, drawing his thumb reverently back and forth, back and forth, back and forth – and then he allows his hand to travel once more – _I know what I want –_ he’s done this before, done this with others, and he’s been told – his fingers tremble – he’s been told that it’s sweet, that it’s kind, that it’s – his thumb hovers, shaking – that it’s _intimate_ – it hovers, above Jūshirō’s open lips – Shunsui breathes, reminds himself to keep breathing, keep breathing, _keep breathing_ – he grips Jūshirō’s hair even tighter, and lightly, _lightly_ , Shunsui runs his thumb across Jūshirō’s bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth – _I know what I want –_

And then, Kyōraku Shunsui lowers his hand, and he closes his grey eyes, and he does the most absurd, most impulsive, and most terrifying thing he has ever done in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my goodness. Holy moly, you guys.  
> This was the craziest chapter to write so far. It was super weird, too - parts of it were so, so easy and so, so natural, and parts of it, I had to re-work more than five times to get them into decent shape. I think I was a little nervous, actually - I knew that this chapter was gonna be kinda pivotal, and I really, really wanted to do the necessary events justice. I'd written certain sections of it ten times over in my head before I actually sat down to bang it out, and other sections, I was terrified of, and didn't want to touch. Like... shit. Between the feels and the nervousness, this one just about did me in. Heh. (I exaggerate - but still).  
> Two quick things I want to mention, too:  
> First - I assumed that the boys were drinking out of those tiny little sake cups, and so, physically, I figure twelve-ish drinks in one night is realistic for a guy like Shunsui. Twelve-ish might be a bit much, or, really, for Shunsui, it might not be enough - but I wanted him to drink about double what Jūshirō drank, at any rate, because I thought that would probably put them on about the same level of drunkenness. Heh.  
> Second - about Jūshirō's interaction with Kitagawa Reiko. Jūshirō is a perceptive guy - as we've seen in canon - and I kinda figured that some of you might have trouble buying that he didn't pick up on her flirting with him. So, I'm backing up his aloofness with with two primary lines of reasoning. First off, this particular, non-canon version of Jūshirō is mostly - and I do mean mostly - interested in men. (That's the easy answer). Second, though, I sort of imagine that Jūshirō - both in canon and in this story - struggles a little with understanding things like ulterior motives. He himself is so earnest and open and kind that it simply doesn't occur to him that other people might not be. Just look at his reaction to Aizen's betrayal, for example (which, granted, was Aizen's betrayal. So, like... but still...). The non-betraying members of the Gotei-13 were all stunned, but it seems to me that Jūshirō in particular couldn't grapple at all with the fact that a person might lie, that a person might betray, etc. It's just not who he is or how his mind works, at all. So, if a girl starts talking to him about kido, he assumes the conversation is actually about kido. It's that sort of thing.  
> Well! All right - sorry that got a bit long-winded. Clearly, I'm still nervous about posting this. Heh. In any case - I hope you all enjoy it.  
> And thank you, thank you, thank you, as always, for reading!
> 
> Oh - and real, real quick! I posted a question about Unohana (not entirely spoiler-free for manga chapters 520 and beyond, by the way) at the end of Chapter 6. If anyone has an answer, I'd love to hear it! Thanks again!


	9. In the Black, Black Night

And they kiss.

In the rain, in the black, black night, without even the stars as witnesses, they kiss.

Shunsui presses his lips to Jūshirō’s and pulls his friend in close. Their mouths are closed, but Jūshirō feels such _fervor_ behind the kiss – it’s visceral, it’s raw, and it’s full to the brim with longing and lust. Jūshirō can barely believe that it’s happening. _I’m dreaming_ , he thinks, _I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming…_

Jūshirō clings tight to this moment, clings tight to it the way Shunsui’s fingers cling tight to Jūshirō’s white hair. He wants to savor this. He wants to treasure this forever, and he wants to remember every tiny detail with absolute perfection. He breathes in, and when he does, he breathes in _Shunsui_ – Shunsui, who smells of sake and rain, but also of sweet earth, and of something sharp and windswept, and of sweat. Shunsui smells the way a man _should_ smell, Jūshirō thinks, and the thought very nearly causes him to laugh – with delight, with disbelief, and with something almost like relief, too – but he doesn’t dare. He doesn’t dare, because right now, he is kissing Kyōraku Shunsui, and he’s terrified that even the smallest movement he might make will end it.

But no kiss can last forever – despite himself, Jūshirō knows that. And so, he’s not surprised when, after what feels like a glorious eternity, Shunsui untangles his hand from Jūshirō’s hair and pulls away. Grey eyes and green both open, slowly, and lock onto one another. Jūshirō reaches forward, and with the back of his forefinger, he caresses Shunsui’s cheek, and Shunsui lets out a shuddering, little sigh and reaches up to clasp Jūshirō’s hand in his own. Jūshirō stays entirely still, hoping that Shunsui will see the question his body is fervently asking – _will you kiss me again, Shunsui? Please – please – will you kiss me again? Will you kiss me again, and will you let me kiss you back, too?_

A sliver of the same question lives in Shunsui’s eyes, Jūshirō sees. Shunsui’s hand tightens on Jūshirō’s. “Is…” Shunsui whispers, the words so quiet that Jūshirō can barely hear them, “is… is this… is this all right?”

“Yes,” Jūshirō whispers back, “yes, I… y-yes… ”

And Shunsui smiles.

It’s all Jūshirō needs.

Jūshirō takes Shunsui’s dark head in his hands, twining his fingers into that dripping mess of brown curls. Their lips crash together again, more recklessly this time. One of Shunsui’s hand is on the back of Jūshirō’s neck now, and the other has somehow snaked its way around his waist, and they are close, close, _so close_ – all Jūshirō can think is _Shunsui,_ all he can see and hear and _feel_ is _Shunsui…_

He can sense Shunsui’s hunger. He can sense it in Shunsui’s lips, can sense it in Shunsui’s traveling hands, which are running up and down Jūshirō’s back and along the bones of his hips – Jūshirō’s own hands travel, too, trailing lightly upon the exposed skin at Shunsui’s collar – _How far are we going to go?_ it occurs to Jūshirō to wonder. He knows what he himself is thinking, what he himself wants – _I want – I want everything,_ he thinks, almost startled. _I… I want all of him_ …

The taste of Kyōraku Shunsui is surprisingly sweet – and at first, so is the way he kisses. Shunsui’s tongue flicks the inside of Jūshirō’s bottom lip, then the top, deftly, playfully – but when Jūshirō tries to reciprocate the action, Shunsui nips the tip of Jūshirō’s tongue with his teeth – _Ah – I might have guessed! –_ Is it possible to laugh and kiss at the same time? Until tonight, Jūshirō would have said “no – ” _Games,_ he recognizes, _games – always games! –_ but he could swear he feels Shunsui laugh, feels _himself_ laugh, too – it’s incredible. It’s entirely unreal. Jūshirō has never kissed like this before, never in his life. No one has ever made a _game_ of kissing before, no one has ever engaged him in such an extraordinary give-and-take – and so Jūshirō lets himself laugh, lets his lips smile beneath Shunsui’s, as their mouths and their bodies tangle and play this delicate game for two.

The next thing he knows, Shunsui – _Shunsui – Kyōraku Shunsui – I’m kissing Kyōraku Shunsui_ –

Shunsui has broken contact with Jūshirō’s lips.

Grey eyes stare –

Green eyes stare, too –

And then everything stops.

 

***

 

Shunsui feels dazed.

_I…_

Jūshirō blinks up at him, face flushed, eyes still bright and wanting.

_I… I kissed him…_

He feels Jūshirō’s reiatsu twisting and spiking, feels his own whirling and shifting around it and in between it, patterns still intermingling –

_And…_

Shunsui’s mouth has gone dry. He feels warm – hot, even. He’s sure he’s sweating, despite the rain.

_And… I… I liked it, didn’t I?_

“Shunsui?” Jūshirō says softly, a slight expression of concern coming over his face.

“I…”

“Are you… a-all right?

“I…I’m _fine,”_ Shunsui says, truly finding his voice at last. “I just…”

“Y-yes?”

“I just…” Shunsui lets out a long, deep sigh, and he runs his hand along Jūshirō’s temple once more, along his cheek, along his jawline, and down his neck, marveling at the shapes of his friend’s immaculate features. He’s in awe. Complete, utter, and absolute awe. “I…” he says,  “I… don’t know how I… didn’t see it before…”

“S-see… see what?”

“I… I can’t believe I didn’t…”

“D-didn’t… didn’t w-what?”

“I n-never saw how…” _Am – am I going to say this?_ “I… I d-didn’t see how…” _My gods – am – am I going to –_

“Shunsui?”

And Shunsui squeezes his eyes shut.

_If I don’t say this now, I never will._

He takes a deep breath.

“Jūshirō…”

_Say it, Shunsui._

“…I don’t know how I never saw before how…”

_Say it, Shunsui, say it –_

“…h-how… ”

His eyes snap open.

“…how fucking _beautiful_ you are.”

 

***

 

Now, it’s Jūshirō who feels dazed.

_…beautiful?_

He feels Shunsui’s trembling hand upon his skin, still tracing thin lines up and down his face and his neck.

_He… he can’t be… s-serious…_

But there’s something so honest in Shunsui’s touch that Jūshirō wants to believe him. He wants to believe that Shunsui thinks he’s – thinks he’s – _beautiful… my gods, beautiful… me? No… surely, he… surely, he’s only being kind…_

Shunsui’s speaking again, he realizes. “I want to see you, Jūshirō,” he’s saying. His voice rasps like cool steel. “I want to – to _really_ see you – _all_ of you. Every last, _beautiful_ inch – ”

“Sh-shunsui…” Jūshirō manages, struggling to speak as Shunsui pulls at the neck of Jūshirō’s uniform, exposing one of his shoulders.

“I mean it, Jūshirō – I want to see you. I want to – to – to _touch_ – ”

 “A-are you sure?”

 _“Yes,_ oh, gods, _yes –_ ”

“Y-yes?”

 _“Gods_ , yes – ”

“A-all… a-all right…” Jūshirō can scarcely believe it. “Sh-shunsui – ”

“Huh?”

“W-we should – ”

“Yes?”

“W-we should – g-go somewhere – ”

“Oh.” Shunsui stops, pulls his hand away. “R-right… yeah, we… i-inside?”

“I-I think so –”

“Get out of the rain –

“R-right – ”

“Right… g-good idea…”

They fumble for a moment, unlocking limbs and staggering upright. Jūshirō nearly falls, but Shunsui catches his arm and gives him a small smile. It’s a tiny, embarrassed, half-formed thing, but it suits his rugged face terribly well – Jūshirō can’t help but be a little amazed. Shunsui looks so – so – _so sweet_ , Jūshirō thinks. There’s no swagger in that smile, none of his usual cocky charm – there’s no teasing, and no irony – _he… he looks happy,_ Jūshirō thinks. _I suppose… he’s not a man who looks truly happy very often, is he?_

When they both manage to stand up straight, Shunsui glances sideways at Jūshirō, that strange smile still spread across his features. “I think,” Shunsui says, “your barracks are closer than mine.”

Jūshirō looks around, trying to get his bearings. “I…” he says, after a moment, “I have no idea where we are, Shunsui!” And he laughs. “All the streets look the _same_ at night… a-and I wasn’t paying attention to where we were going – ”

“S’ok, man. Don’t you worry about it.” He looks down for a moment – _what’s he thinking? He’s thinking of something – some – some new fabulous idea, I wonder?  –_ and when he looks at Jūshirō again, Shunsui has his hand extended, palm up. “Shall we?” he whispers.

Jūshirō’s heart skips a beat. _It’s too… too good to be true…_  He stares at Shunsui’s hand. “You… you mean…?”

“Go on,” says Shunsui. “Take it.” When Jūshirō keeps on staring, Shunsui says, “ _C’mon_ , man, if we’re gonna – ” he pauses, the words seeming stuck. “I-if… if we’re gonna do this… I… I wanna do it right. O-okay?”

He nearly gives in – he nearly takes Shunsui’s hand right then – _I want to, I know I want to –_ but something stops him. “Shunsui,” says Jūshirō slowly, “I… I have to ask. What… do you think the rest of tonight looks like?” He watches his friend’s dark brow furrow as he considers Jūshirō’s question. Jūshirō’s eyes stray to what he can see of Shunsui’s skin – even in the darkness, he can see the muscles on Shunsui’s chest, on his neck – the part of his brain that would normally shut down such thoughts seems to have been eaten away by sake, and Jūshirō feels that strong, strong twitch of desire, of _wanting_ –

“I…” Shunsui, still smiling, says after a few seconds, “I… was kinda thinkin’… we might play that by ear?” When Jūshirō says nothing, he adds, “Um… w-why? What… what were you thinkin’, Jūshirō?”

 _I know exactly what I’m thinking. But…_ It’s too perfect. It’s too fast. He knows that Shunsui seems happy now, knows that Shunsui seems, _somehow_ , to want Jūshirō _now_ – but he can’t help but be uncertain. _He never showed any interest until tonight. Never – not once. Not in me, not – not – in any man, come to think of it –_

But then…

He stares at Shunsui – at handsome, handsome, Shunsui.

 _Beautiful,_ thinks Jūshirō. _He called me… beautiful._

There’s something very real in that, Jūshirō believes. _Beautiful_ is not a word of empty lust, of arbitrary, first-time desire. _Beautiful_ is an honest word. _Beautiful_ is a thought-through word. _Beautiful_ is a word you use when you’re overcome by the utter _rightness_ of another’s being – Shunsui is _beautiful_ to Jūshirō, and he always has been – and so, could it be – could it _truly_ be – that Jūshirō is _beautiful_ to Shunsui in that way, too?  

 _I’m worried,_ Jūshirō knows. _I’m worried about him. I’m worried about moving too quickly, and I’m worried he’ll have regrets…_

He sees that little smile on Shunsui’s face. He sees Shunsui’s kind, open hand, inviting Jūshirō’s to join it –

_…but he called me beautiful._

_Kyōraku Shunsui kissed me, and Kyōraku Shunsui called me beautiful._

“That… sounds just fine to me,” Jūshirō says, and he takes Shunsui’s hand.

And together, they walk through the darkened street towards Jūshirō’s barracks.

 

_***_

 

Shunsui won’t pretend he isn’t a little confused.

He’s never seen his friend this way, after all, never thought of his friend this way – but _damn_ if Jūshirō isn’t _beautiful_ – _How the hell did I never see that before?_ Shunsui wonders for the hundredth time – and _damn,_ if there hadn’t been something about the yearning in Jūshirō’s eyes, about the way his fragile body trembled beneath the rain, about those rare glimpses of pale, muscled skin, even about the knots in his white hair –

And the thing is, Shunsui feels that every word he’s spoken that evening has been the absolute truth. Shunsui wants. Shunsui wants _Jūshirō_. And if the way Jūshirō’s slender hand clutches tightly to his is anything to go by, Jūshirō wants him, too. A small part of Shunsui knows that there must be some deeper thinking to be done here, that this is rash, wild, irresponsible – but a larger part of Shunsui couldn’t care less. _Save that for daylight_ , he thinks. He looks once again at Jūshirō’s striking face – _Gods, just one block more, and I can kiss him again_ _–_ and he resolves, once and for all, to ignore his doubts. Shunsui worries, yes – but he won’t think of that. Because more than Shunsui worries, Shunsui _wants_.

They arrive. There’s an awning above the doorway that provides just a little bit of cover from the rain, and when they reach it, Shunsui, impulsively, still grasping Jūshirō’s hand, presses his friend hard against the door and buries a kiss in his neck. Jūshirō sighs in response, softly, almost silently. His eyes have closed. His face is the very picture of surrender. He clings with his free hand to Shunsui’s robe, grasping at the fabric as though his life depends on it. Jūshirō’s shivering beneath him, Shunsui realizes – and when he pulls away and lets his fingers brush against those soft lips once more, he sees that they’re quivering, too – for the first time, he realizes just how cold Jūshirō’s hand is, and how, even in the light of the torches that flicker on either side of the barracks doorway, it seems that he’s grown even paler than usual – and strangely, _strangely_ , it crosses Shunsui’s drunken mind that there’s something even more _beautiful_ in seeing Jūshirō like that – in seeing him look so cold and pale and sick and _broken_ –

“You all right?” Shunsui whispers, suddenly catching himself, a little angry that he got so carried away. _I shoulda been watching him_ , Shunsui thinks. _Shit… if he’s not okay, it’s all my fault, inn’it? Shit…_

“F-fine,” says Jūshirō. “F-fine… it’s… you’re…” and he brings Shunsui’s other hand to his lips, and kisses it gently. “I…can’t believe this is happening…”

“You and me both, man,” Shunsui says. And then, before Jūshirō can respond – _before he has the chance to get any colder, goddammit –_ he says, “Inside?”

Jūshirō nods. “I-inside.”

Inside, it’s dark – even darker than it was out in the street. Shunsui’s navigating mostly by feel. _Good thing the barracks are all set up pretty much the same,_ he thinks. He wants to make it to Jūshirō’s room as quickly as possible – partly so Jūshirō can warm up, but, more than that, so that he doesn’t have to restrain his actions anymore. He’s been pretty tame so far, he knows. And he’s not sure how much longer he can last if he has to stay that way.

“Wh-where are the stairs?” Shunsui asks. “O-over here?”

“Doesn’t matter –” says Jūshirō in a low murmur, “f-first floor – m-my room’s on the first floor – s-stairs are too hard for me, sometimes – ”

“Aw, _shit_ – d-didn’t think of that – ”

“D-don’t worry about it – ”

“Right – _shit_ , sorry – ”

“It’s all right – it’s just fine –

“Uh – th-this way, Jūshirō?”

“Y-yes– l-left here – _ah – Shunsui…”_ Jūshirō fights to keep his voice at a whisper as Shunsui’s lips find his neck once more. “We’re nearly there,” he pants. “W-wait just a little longer – ”

“ _Jūshirō_ ,” groans Shunsui, whose willpower is wearing tremendously thin, “I dunno if I _can_ – ”

“C-come on – we’re n-nearly there – ”

“How much _further?”_

“Just – j-just a few more steps – h-here – this one’s me – ”

Shunsui slides the door open, and he and Jūshirō stumble inside. It’s dark in the room, too, and Shunsui can’t see a damn thing, but he wastes no time in pressing his lips to Jūshirō’s again the second after they both make it out of that hallway. He feels Jūshirō resist for a brief moment – _What the – ? –_ but Jūshirō only laughs, and says “Shunsui – the door – c-close the _door_ – ”

“Oh,” Shunsui says stupidly, “the door – goddamn _door_ – right – sorry – ” He looks to Jūshirō and smirks – “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll be back – ” and he gives Jūshirō a quick little kiss on his cheek before staggering the three or four feet to the door and sliding it shut.  Jūshirō’s still chuckling faintly when Shunsui returns to him. “Now,” he says, wrapping his hands around Jūshirō’s waist and bowing his head just enough that their foreheads touch, “where were we?”

Truth be told, Shunsui has no idea what he’s doing. Truth be told, he barely knows what he’s doing when he has a woman in his arms, let alone a man – let alone _Jūshirō_ – and so, he figures that the best thing he can do is to give into every impulse he has and see what happens. This is a game Shunsui doesn’t know the rules to, and he’s certainly not about to ask Jūshirō how to play – _that would kinda ruin the moment, wouldn’t it?_

Luckily, Shunsui has a _lot_ of impulses.

His first and most immediate impulse is to get Jūshirō out of those cumbersome Academy robes. He slides his hands up Jūshirō’s sides, fingers dragging on damp fabric, snatching small kisses all the while – and then Shunsui grabs hold of the cloth, tugging at it until both the shirt and undershirt are untucked and hang, limp and as good as useless, off of Jūshirō’s thin frame. It’s still dark, but Shunsui’s eyes have adjusted a little. _My gods,_ he thinks, seeing Jūshirō standing there, gazing at Shunsui through eager, half-lidded eyes, with his shirts hanging open. His skin shines with rainwater, smooth, and nearly white – _Shirō_ , comes Shunsui’s thought, _Shirō, like white… Shirō, like Shirō-kun –_ and then, he slides Jūshirō’s shirts off his shoulders and hears them crumple on the ground.

 _“Beautiful,”_ Shunsui breathes.

Shunsui’s memories go a little blurry after that. He has vague impressions of pulling Jūshirō close, of seizing his friend’s gorgeous, frail body and running his hands over every stretch of soft skin he can find. Somewhere amid all of this, Shunsui finds Jūshirō’s lips again, and somewhere amid all of this, Shunsui’s own shirts become untucked, too – dimly, he’s aware of Jūshirō’s hands on his shoulders, pushing his uniform out of the way and exposing his stomach and chest. Jūshirō’s touch is light, even careful – as if he’s afraid that he might shatter the moment if he allows himself to make too much contact. Shunsui doesn’t mind, though; there’s something _intoxicating_ about being caressed so gently. Most of the lovers he’s taken in the past have been rough, he realizes, have been excitable and hurried. Not so Jūshirō. No – Jūshirō seems to cherish this, to cherish _Shunsui_ , in a way that Shunsui feels he’s never quite been cherished before. He could be imagining it – he knows that – but something about being with Jūshirō this way makes him feel something beyond _wanted_. Something about being with Jūshirō this way simply feels _right_.

That faint prick of worry still dances in the back of Shunsui’s mind. Shunsui knows it’s there – but he tells himself he doesn’t care. He tells himself he has more important things to focus on – on Jūshirō, wrapped in his arms – on his hands, exploring the shapes of the muscles in Jūshirō’s bare back and chest and abdomen _–_ on Jūshirō’s lips, sweet and tender, firmly on Shunsui’s, tasting, asking, and always _wanting_ – _more important. Yes. More important things to focus on_. _Fuck you, brain! Ha-ha!_ Shunsui thinks. _Shut up for once, and let my body have this one tonight, why don’t ya?_

Even as the two of them tumble together onto the floor in a mess of limbs, still kissing, still grasping at each other with eager hands, the worry, though fainter now, persists. _Go AWAY_ , Shunsui tells it. _Go the ever-loving fuck away._ But it won’t – he knows it won’t. _Fine,_ he concedes. _You don’t have to go away – not altogether. Just –_

“Is – is this still all right?” Jūshirō, breaking off their kiss, asks in a hushed, rushed whisper. “I – I just wanted to make sure – ah – a-are you still all right?”

In response, Shunsui grabs a fistful of his friend’s hair and kisses him again, hard. “You bet I am,” he says.

_Just –_

_Like I fuckin’ said before._

_Save it for daylight._

***

 

Their pace has slowed a little now. Not because the thrill has worn off – hardly. If anything, the thrill has intensified. But there’s been a gentle shift in the intention behind their kisses, Jūshirō feels, in both Shunsui’s and his own. They lay together upon the floor, Shunsui’s dark, muscled figure pressed almost entirely against Jūshirō’s, their faces barely inches apart, Jūshirō staring up into Shunsui’s grey eyes. Shunsui cups his friend’s ear and lays yet another kiss on the side of Jūshirō’s neck – this kiss lingers a little, and the heat that’s been building inside Jūshirō the whole night deepens just a little more. And based on subtle clues from Shunsui’s reiatsu as well as none-too-subtle clues from Shunsui’s body, Jūshirō is fairly certain that a similar heat is deepening inside Shunsui, too. _I... I don’t think we can stay like this for much longer,_ Jūshirō thinks, gasping as Shunsui’s hand ghosts playfully across the lower half of his stomach. A surge from that heat again, and – _no. No, I’m sure that we can’t –_

“Shunsui?” Jūshirō asks, reaching up with both hands and running his fingers again through Shunsui’s tangled, chestnut hair.

“Mmm?”

“You – ah – y-you said before that you wanted to play tonight by ear – ”

Even before Jūshirō’s finished the sentence, Shunsui disengages his head from Jūshirō’s hands and kisses the corner of Jūshirō’s mouth. “Mmm- _hmm…?_ ”

“Well…” _My gods – my gods, are we going to – ?_ “What – ah – what… do you want to do, Shunsui?”

Shunsui pokes his head up and smiles coyly at Jūshirō. “I dunno,” he says, in a way that seems to imply that he very well might, in fact, have an idea or two. The smile fades just a little as he continues, “What… do _you_ wanna do, Jūshirō?”

“I – ah – well,” says Jūshirō, who has never really felt comfortable putting words around this sort of thing, “I – I’d be happy to do – ah – l-lots of – ah – t-that is to say, I wouldn’t be opposed to – ah – ”

Shunsui stops him with a kiss. “You…” And then Shunsui’s tracing those delicate, loving lines on Jūshirō’s face again with just his fingertips. “You… you wanna go all the way, man?” he says, quietly.

Jūshirō’s frozen. He could say a million things. He could say nothing at all. A thousand half-formed sentences flash across his mind, but he can’t make a single word come out of his mouth. For the moment, all he can do is stare, and stare, and keep on staring –

“Aw, shit,” says Shunsui, half a second later.

“W-what is it?”

“I – I didn’t think – uh – look, not to be – uh…” Shunsui looks away briefly. “This – uh – it – uh… w-would it – ” He looks back to Jūshirō, clearly still feeling awkward. “Uh. W-would it be your first time?”

Jūshirō only laughs. He grabs Shunsui’s head again and kisses him fully on the mouth, little bursts of laughter still slipping though his lips. “ _No,_ Shunsui!” he says, thoroughly amused. Shunsui visibly relaxes, and a little smile breaks through on his face also. Jūshirō lets his head fall back onto the floor and sighs. “I do wonder, though,” he muses, “what it is that gives that impression. People ask me that all the time…”

“All… uh. All the time?”

“Well. I-it’s not as though – um – I – not _all the time_ – I-I don’t mean to make it sound like I – ”

“Nah, I kinda get it. You’re pretty suave. Y’know, in an adorable, innocent, totally oblivious kinda way.”

“W-well – i-it’s not – ah – I mean, I don’t _try_ t-to – ”

“Yeah. I know. That’s the ‘oblivious’ part.” Shunsui smirks. “But now…” he says, sliding down a little and placing a kiss on Jūshirō’s collarbone between each of his words, “back – to – the _question_ …” and he returns upwards and kisses Jūshirō deeply, open-mouthed, while the sentence hangs unfinished between them. “…the _question_ at hand,” he says when he pulls gently back. He lets a hand travel across Jūshirō’s chest, then his down his side, and then lets it settle on his hip, as if Shunsui is telling Jūshirō that it could continue its movements and go just about anywhere else if Shunsui allows it to. “You… wanna go all the way, Jūshirō?” he says again.

This time, Jūshirō has his answer ready.

He smiles up at Shunsui.

_“Yes.”_

Shunsui smiles, too. “Cool,” he says, and the next thing Jūshirō knows, they’re kissing again, rapidly, passionately, without restraint – for a moment, they roll sideways, and then Jūshirō is kneeling on top of Shunsui, which is strange for him – it’s not usually the position in which he finds himself in these situations – he takes advantage of it, though, starting at Shunsui’s broad shoulders and leaving a trail of kisses all the way down his torso, and daring to toy with Shunsui by going no further than that – “Ohhh, no you don’t,” says Shunsui, rolling sideways again and bringing Jūshirō with him – Jūshirō laughs as his back hits the ground once more – he moves to steal another kiss, but Shunsui pulls away – “Uh-uh – nice try, you little tease, you,” he says, cupping Jūshirō’s chin with one hand and returning the other to Jūshirō’s hip.

For the time being, they still have their trousers on. The hand on Jūshirō’s hip migrates a little and spreads across Jūshirō’s stomach, and Shunsui’s deft fingers begin to work at the knot in his belt. Shunsui’s eyes, dark and grey and steady, meet Jūshirō’s. Jūshirō watches, captivated. “Now…” Shunsui’s murmuring, loosening the knot in the belt all the while, “look. This… is gonna be kinda new for me, okay? Not… like, it’s not my first time _ever_ or anything, but this is gonna be… uh… I mean, I-I’ve never… uh…” His eyes waver along with his voice. “So, uh… try and forgive me if I do something wrong, o-okay?” He licks his lips. Jūshirō feels the hand touching his chin begin to shake.

It hits Jūshirō, then.

He knows full well that Shunsui’s never been with a man before. He’s always known it – it’s obvious, as far as he’s concerned. Shunsui’s never said so, of course, not in so many words, but that’s probably because the words have never been necessary. From a purely mechanical standpoint, Jūshirō knows that he could teach Shunsui what to do. He’d be more than willing to let Shunsui assume whatever position he was most comfortable with, too, and he’d be more than willing to hold back a little while Shunsui learns –

But that’s not the problem.

 _I want him_ , Jūshirō thinks. _I want him so, so very badly. But he…_ Jūshirō watches Shunsui maneuvering slowly below him, feels the shaking in Shunsui’s hand grow more and more pronounced with every passing second. _Is this… what he wants? Truly? Is this what Shunsui wants?_ Jūshirō can’t be sure.

Because acting on drunken impulses and truly, truly _wanting_ are two very, very different things.

“Shunsui,” Jūshirō says, his decision made.

“Huh?” Shunsui ceases his movements for a moment. “What’s up, man?”

“I think we should stop.”

A flash of dark emotion crosses Shunsui’s face – _Shock? Anger?_ Jūshirō doesn’t know. “What?” he whispers, incredulous.

“I think we should stop,” Jūshirō repeats, more softly this time, and he sits up. “L-listen,” he says, reaching forward and tentatively beginning to stroke Shunsui’s dark hair – _My gods, I’m shaking too, now –_ “I… Shunsui, I… I can’t do this with you tonight.”

“But you said – ”

“I know.”

“ – you said you wanted to – ”

“I _know.”_ Jūshirō’s fingers form a fist in Shunsui’s hair. “And – I – Shunsui, I _do._ I – I _do_ want to. I _really_ want to.” _More than you know._ “But – but that’s a – a large part of the reason why I _can’t_ , actually – ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I – ” Jūshirō stops. He recognizes his feelings for what they are, and he hates it a little – _No – I hate it a lot_. “I… would feel like I was taking advantage,” he finally says.

“Taking advantage? Of me?” Jūshirō nods. “That’s – that’s ridiculous, dude – I wanna do this, too, y’know – ” Shunsui leans in again, moving forward for another kiss –

But Jūshirō shakes his head. “ _Do_ you?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“Do you _really_ want to do this Shunsui?”

“I – ”

“You’ve never said anything – n-never _done_ anything – n-never indicated in any way – ”

“That’s because I didn’t know until _tonight_ that I wanted this, Jūshirō – ”

“ _Shunsui_ ,” Jūshirō says, “I – I know you want this _now_ , I – I – I… but you… you haven’t thought about it, have you? You haven’t _really_ thought about it, h-have never thought about it at _all_ , probably – u-until tonight – ”

“I… yeah, well, _maybe,_ but what does that – ”

“Stop, Shunsui – _please_. Listen to me. That’s what taking advantage _is._ ” Shunsui looks like he’s about to protest, but Jūshirō continues before he can do so. “We’ve been drinking,” he states bluntly. “I – Shunsui I _know_ you’re a man who can handle his liquor – that’s not what I’m contesting here. But this – we – this…” He hesitates. “This… wouldn’t have happened without the sake.”

“You… you don’t _know_ that…”

“I’d say the odds are fairly good.” Jūshirō’s voice has gone low and thick. He stares sadly at Shunsui – _handsome, handsome Shunsui, who could have been mine – could – could still be mine – could – c-could –_ He shakes his head again, hard. _No._ “Shunsui, I… ”

“Please?” Shunsui asks. He extends a hand and, just as he did outside, in the rain, in the dark, he takes his thumb and draws it across Jūshirō’s cheek – back and forth, back and forth, back and –

It’s almost too much Jūshirō to take. Shunsui’s eyes are so earnest, so filled with longing – _it’s real_ , Jūshirō dares to think, for the briefest of moments, _it’s real_ –

“I _can’t_.” Jūshirō says. “I… Shunsui, I… I want to…” His voice falters, and his eyes burn, as if with the beginnings of tears. “…but I _can’t._ ”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Gradually, the look in Shunsui’s eyes shifts from one of desire to one of something like stony acceptance. When Jūshirō sees that shift, he feels as though a hot knife has been plunged into his heart and twisted around relentlessly by some cruel, cruel hand – but he knows, he _knows_ , it’s for the best.

He’s not even aware that his tears have started to fall until Shunsui extends his hand one more time. With that same thumb, gently, _gently,_ Shunsui wipes one away. Jūshirō trembles. _I want,_ he thinks, _I can’t – I want – I can’t – I want –_

Slowly, Shunsui rises, leaving Jūshirō alone on the ground. He collects his robe and undershirt, and he takes the few measured steps he needs to make it to the door. Jūshirō’s almost certain his friend will leave silently, but at the last second, Shunsui turns back. “I…” he says, eyes cast down. “I’m sorry. I… I’m not even totally sure what for, man, but, I… I’m sorry.”

Jūshirō can’t find his voice. He squeezes his eyes shut and nods once, twice, three times, rapid and desperate. _Please,_ he prays, _please leave. I want you too badly for you to stay. Please… please…_

But Shunsui lingers. Jūshirō cracks his eyes open and sees his friend’s silhouette in the doorway. “G’night,” Shunsui whispers. He slips most of the way out of the room, and moves to slide the door closed – but before he does, he looks back, for just a moment.

“Here’s the thing, though,” he says. “You… you don’t know that it wouldn’t have happened without the sake, Jūshirō.”

And with that, he closes the door.

When the door closes, it’s as though everything in Jūshirō’s body collapses all at once. He falls sideways, and he can’t make his arms move quickly enough to catch himself – his heart races – his head pounds – and instantly, his chest is on fire – he can’t breathe – can’t breathe – can’t – _can’t_ – Jūshirō’s head hits the ground, and he shakes, _hard_ , as the coughs tear through him, violent, unstoppable – _Damn,_ he thinks, _damn, damn, DAMN –_ he tastes blood in his mouth where once he tasted sake and _Shunsui_ – _DAMN_ , he thinks again…

And just before he loses consciousness, it occurs to Jūshirō to wonder whether this ruthless pain might somehow be any less if there were a strong, dark hand holding onto his…

If he had a friend – or even a lover – at his side…

***

 

Outside, the rain has stopped.

The steps Shunsui took to make it out of the barracks were slow. Like the steps of a man half-dead, almost.

He leans against the barracks wall and lets himself slide down until he’s seated, knees bent, head bowed, trembling hands running frantically through his mess of brown hair.

He feels empty.

He feels so, so, _so_ unsteady – more unsteady than he ever has in his life.

He feels like he fucked up.

He doesn’t have a goddamn clue how, exactly – but he feels like he fucked up.

The voice in the back of his mind that screamed out worries before grows more pronounced. More distinct. More familiar. _Fuck_ , Shunsui thinks, _I should have known it was you. I should have known it was you the whole time._

A laugh inside his head – Shunsui cringes. It hurts to hear that laugh – hurts his head, hurts his heart. _What_ , he asks, gritting his teeth through the pain, _could you POSSIBLY want with me now?_

And Katen Kyōkotsu laughs again.

 _I believe the expression_ , she says, _is – ‘I told you so.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, everyone :)  
> Sorry it's been a while - this chapter took some time to get right. (I'm really, really happy with it, though, so I think it was worth it.) It was for two reasons, mainly - first, it was because I had to sort out the specifics of the evening's trajectory. I knew the overall shape, but the little ins and outs could have gone about a dozen different ways. So, I guess you could put it down to mechanics? Meh. Something like that.  
> The second reason, though, is - um. Well. Basically, the first write-through - and also the second, and also the third - were - um - slashier? Heh. Here's what happened there: I wrote the slashy version first, but as I was re-reading and editing, I realized a couple things. I realized that, as much fun as the slashy bits were to write, they diverged significantly from the style of the story up to this point. Like, *clearly* there have been romantic hints and stuff going on throughout the whole thing, but it hasn't ever been the *point,* per se. And the more I wrote the slashy bits, the more I realized that the romance (etc.) isn't the point of this story. In fact, the overall story would work just as well if there was nothing slashy at all, and if the two of them were just friends - it just so happens that I'm having the two of them engage in - ahem - oh-so-scandalous activities and such because I happen to ship them. So. Y'know. The other thing I realized, though, is that I'm pretty interested in having this story stay fairly tame. Not *entirely,* but I don't anticipate things getting any more graphic than this chapter. (More stuff may or may not happen - but I'm not going to describe it graphically. Like I said - not the point here.)  
> So, here's the plan, friends - I think I'm gonna keep this story as it is, but then, later, after the whole thing's done, post a sort of add-on, deleted-scenes-type, bonus story that is... um.. basically just the slashy bits. In case that's what you came for. (No promises it'll be good, though. Heh. I've never written that kind of thing before.)  
> Phew! Okay! Hope you enjoyed it, everyone! And, of course - thank you for reading!!!


	10. (The) Blue(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains the vaguest, vaguest, vaguest of spoilers for manga chapters 605 (kinda) and 615/616 (for sure) and beyond. At this point, it's more like passing references that won't make sense if you haven't read the manga, but this story *will* get more spoiler-y for those chapters in future installments.

Wednesday morning.

Shunsui wakes.

Right away, he wishes he hadn’t.

His sleep had been black and dreamless, thoughtless, mindless. _Painless,_ he adds, as every single heartbeat sends a dull stab of agony through his head. _Fucking hell. How much did I drink?_

The answer that comes to him first isn’t a quantity.

 _Enough to kiss Jūshirō_ , he thinks.

There’s more pain in that single thought than in the rest of his aching body combined. Shunsui squints through the thin, grey, morning light up at the ceiling of his room. The emptiness and the unsteadiness and the feeling-like-he-fucked-up-ness from last night haven’t faded at all with sobriety or with the coming of dawn. _And,_ realizes Shunsui, a little jarred, _neither has… what I want..._

A bell tolls outside Shunsui’s window. He freezes. _Seven…_ he counts along with it, _eight… nine… ten…_ he groans, fearing the worst. _Shit – that’s eleven –_

He scrambles up from his sleeping mat, searching everywhere for a fresh uniform – _Come on,_ he thinks, tearing apart his drawers and discovering only a torn pair of trousers and one, lone sock – _come ON_ – no such luck – his goddamn head is still killing him, too – _Shit,_ he thinks again, eyeing the pile of rumpled clothes from last night. He sighs, furious but resigned, and he winces as he pulls on the uniform, which is still damp and which definitely smells a little like sake –

And then he stops. He drags the fabric of his shirt up to his nose and breathes in again, deeply, eyes closed.

_Oh._

Mostly, he smells sake and rain. But beneath it – something else. Something warm. Something vaguely like tea with spices, and like summer wind rustling through leafy treetops, and like a _home_ , a place with sturdy, wooden walls, where the sheets are always clean and the hearth is always hot –

_Jūshirō…_

_No._ He opens his eyes and lowers the fabric. _No. Not now. Later. Later – lots of that later if you fuckin’ want, goddammit – you can pine all you fuckin’ want later, goddammit –_ because right now, he’s late for zanjutsu. He snatches up Katen Kyōkotsu as he dashes to the door, deliberately blocking all of her snide remarks from his mind – _and I know she’s got plenty. God FUCKIN’ dammit –_

Just as he’s about to leave, something catches his eye. He cocks his head sideways, considering.

_Well…_

The way he sees it, he’s already in trouble anyway. Slowly, he crosses to the corner of his room. _What’s a little more trouble, huh? And it ain’t like this headache is gonna go away by itself any time soon… and besides…_

A wicked smile crosses his face as he picks up the bottle of sake, brings it to his lips, and downs its contents in a few long, deep swigs.

_I’ve always wondered if I’d be any good at fighting drunk…_

On his way to his zanjutsu class, he passes by Jūshirō’s barracks. For a moment, Shunsui slows. He stares at the building and feels both his heart and his reiatsu give a little, involuntary leap. His throat feels tight. But then, he hears the bell again – _Quarter past – Shit –_ and he resumes his mad run through the Seireitei. He throws a glance back over his shoulder, though – he can’t help it.

 _Jūshirō,_ he thinks. _Jūshirō…_

_Shit…_

_I hope that beautiful bastard’s all right…_

***

 

Jūshirō’s not all right.

He lays, half-clothed and sideways, upon the cold floor. He’s still shaking – he hasn’t stopped shaking since Shunsui closed that door, hours and hours ago. His skin is slick with sweat. His breathing is irregular, jagged, shallow. The coppery taste of old blood sticks in his mouth. There’s an unrelenting heat coursing rapidly through his veins – _fever_ , he knows, the sensation all too familiar, the word echoing distantly in the back of his throbbing head.

He passed the night in uncontrollable stops and starts, alternately fainting and waking himself from his faints with bouts of savage coughs. He’s managed to restore himself to something like neutral, now – he’s conscious, at least, and, for the moment, he’s keeping the worst at bay, successfully regulating his breathing with his reiatsu – but he knows it won’t last. Sooner or later, one or the other will slip – either he’ll faint again, or he’ll lose control of his reiatsu, and the coughing will start once more.

And to make matters worse, he can’t stop thinking about Shunsui.

_Shunsui…_

What had happened last night? It’s not a question of memory, but of meaning. He’s turned his uncertainties over and over in his restless mind dozens of times, but still, he has no answers. What had he seen in Shunsui’s strange, grey eyes, earnest and yearning, as they pierced through the darkness, begging permission to touch, to tease, to taste? What had he felt in Shunsui’s trembling fingertips? What he heard in Shunsui’s gentle words, in his whispered _“beautiful,”_ in his dark, husky laughter and in his undeniable, involuntary sighs?

 _There was something there,_ Jūshirō thinks, not for the first time, through the haze of his fever. _Something… I don’t know what, but something… something very big, and… very raw, and… very… very real…_

He feels a brief spike of tightness, of grating, wrenching pain in his chest again, and he tenses. At a loss, Jūshirō allows his heavy eyelids to drop closed. _I… I can’t stay like this_... His body and his mind are both _so…_ _exhausted_ … He wants desperately to give up, to give in… to let his sickness take him, and to float along effortlessly in the senseless warmth of darkness and delirium…

And just like that, the sheer willpower that was keeping his reiatsu steady snaps.

Instantly, Jūshirō can’t breathe again. His reiatsu flairs wildly, erratically – his body is entirely out of his control – he’s gasping, coughing, thrashing helplessly on the ground – _No,_ he thinks fervently, _no – no, I – I-I didn’t mean it – p-please – PLEASE!_ There’s fresh, warm blood in his mouth now – he splutters, desperate to expel the blood from his mouth before he chokes, to get that foul, bitter taste off his tongue – _please –_ he forces his eyes open and sees splotches of red shining on his bare skin – _please, please, PLEASE –_ his back arches against the pain, and he claws at the ground, fingernails scraping against hard floorboards as he struggles to draw just one breath – _please, let it stop –_ even one, single breath – _let it stop – let it stop – let it STOP –_

 

***

 

Turns out, Shunsui’s pretty darn good at fighting drunk.

He’d slipped into the training hall about twenty minutes late, and he’d thought for a few glorious seconds that he’d escaped notice. No such luck, though – the instructor had pointed a gnarled finger at Shunsui and had entreated him none-too-kindly to step forward and act as the centerpiece in a parry demonstration. Shunsui had stood there stupidly for half a second, but then, had squared his shoulders and strode to the front of the hall, hand on the hilt of his longer sword, and wearing the most sarcastic smile he could manage.

“Block if you can, Kyōraku,” the instructor had sneered. “And mind your form.”

“Yessir,” Shunsui had responded, raising his blade and hoping like crazy that his instincts were intact.

The instructor’s ass was on the ground less than five minutes later.

Shunsui had grinned sheepishly down at the instructor. “You never said I couldn’t reposte,” he’d said, much to his fellow students’ amusement.

The instructor had only scowled. “You’re not going to get even one second of down-time for the next three hours, Kyōraku. You hear me? For the next three hours, you are _mine_ , and for the next three hours, _you_ are the target that your peers will be attacking. Understand?”

“Fine by me, sir,” Shunsui had responded, careful to keep that smile on his face. His mind had flashed briefly to someone else he knows who always smiles during combat –

“Something wrong, Kyōraku?” the instructor had asked.

“No, sir. All good over here, sir,” Shunsui had said, making a point of stretching his smile even wider – so much so that his cheeks hurt. The instructor had turned away, muttering something that sounded vaguely like “strange boy,” and had waved a nonchalant hand, indicating that the rest of the students were to begin their exercises. One after another, they’d whacked away at Shunsui, and one after another, he parried with ease. He’d almost been _bored_ by their attempts, he’d realized as he’d effortlessly batted away their weapons. By the time the class had ended, only two students had managed to land a blow on him, and of those, only one had been of any significance – the student had managed to knock the flat of his blade against Shunsui’s hand before slipping the point in to poke him in the gut. It hadn’t bothered Shunsui, though – he’d figured he would have been able to defend himself against the move if he’d been sober, and that had been good enough for him.

Now, three terribly uneventful hours later, Shunsui strolls comfortably, hands tucked behind his head and elbows up in the air, in between two of his classmates. “That was _sweet_ , Kyōraku,” one of them says. “I still can’t believe you decked the ol’ sensei like that, though!”

“What,” says Shunsui, turning to the student, “you thought I couldn’t? Got no faith in my abilities, is that it?”

“Hell nah,” the student replies. “Nah, just – it woulda scared the crap outta me to even _try_ something like that.” The student pauses and gives Shunsui a brief look up, and down, and back up again. “You’re kind of an idiot, man. You’re awful brave – but you’re a total idiot.”

“I’m opting to take that as a complement,” Shunsui says, lowering his arms and smiling at his classmate. He peers as subtly as he can into the student’s face as they continue to walk. The kid’s got these wide, brown eyes and a full head of wavy, black hair, and these charming, little freckles that are sprinkled across his nose and his cheeks. _Is he handsome?_ Shunsui wonders. He really can’t tell. _Is he… a good-looking guy? What if it had been him, instead of –_ Shunsui stops, and gives a small, puzzled frown. _Well. Anyway. What if it had been him? I wonder… would… would I have…?_

“You guys hungry?” It’s the student on Shunsui’s other side. “Cuz, _damn_ , I could eat. What about you, Kyōraku? You gotta be starving after what the old man had ya do in class today!”

Shunsui considers. “Now that ya mention it,” he says, “I _am_ a little bit hungry, yeah – you know a place around here?”

“Best ramen this side of the Seireitei,” says the student, grinning. “And, hey – I’ll buy ya a drink, too. You totally deserve it.”

 _More sake?_ Shunsui thinks. _Jeez._ But he’ll never say no to free booze, and so he keeps right on smiling, and agrees, pretending to be all begrudging about it, to accept the drink.

He glances up at the rooftops overhead, and realizes, with a start, that he’s passing by Jūshirō’s barracks again. _Maybe I should see if he’s in_ , Shunsui thinks. _See if he wants to talk – heck, maybe he’ll even want to come to lunch with us!_ But as soon as the thought crosses Shunsui’s mind, it evaporates. _No,_ Shunsui thinks, remembering the way they parted last night. He’s fallen a pace or two behind his classmates, he sees, so he lengthens his stride and tilts an ear towards the one who’s speaking – some nonsense about the kind of ramen he’s going to order, from the sound of it.

This time, Shunsui resists his urge to look back. _No_ , he resolves. _No. Forget about it, Shunsui – he doesn’t want to see you. There’s no way in hell he wants to see you._

 

***

 

The next thing Jūshirō knows, he’s prying his eyes open again. He slips back into consciousness slowly, as though emerging from some deep pool. His throat and his chest still burn with aftershocks of that thick, thick pain, and his lips are dry, coated, he has no doubt, in cracked blood. His reiatsu pulses only faintly; his fever pulses with tremendous, overwhelming speed and urgency. The light in his room is a gentle blue, now – _evening_ , he thinks dimly. _I… I must have been out for a long, long time…_ In truth, he can’t remember having been assaulted by his illness this abruptly and this violently ever before. _This… is bad_ , he thinks. _I… I need –_

His chest tightens again – _Again? A-again, s-so soon? No… g-gods, no –_ but he clenches his fists and shoves his reiatsu into stability, forcing his body into a state of stagnation, if not ease – the tightness fades a little, and he breathes a ghastly, ragged sigh.

But he knows he’s only forestalling the inevitable.

 _I need help,_ he thinks.

_I need help, or I… I could…_

But – no. No. He won’t think of that. He refuses – refuses entirely. _You’re too young for thoughts like that,_ he tells himself, despite the fever, despite the pain, despite the extraordinary odds he’s been up against since he was a small child. _You have too much ahead of you. You have no right to thoughts like that – none, none at all. You have potential, Jūshirō – you know you do. You have a duty to survive, and to use it. And what’s more…_ he sets his jaw, his resolve deepening. _Is that how you’re going to repay the power that saved you? Barely a year at the Academy, and a pointless, graceless death at the hands of a little rain and a little overexcitement?_

No.

It won’t end here.

 _He_ won’t end here.

Still, though, he recognizes that he won’t be able to hold on much longer by himself. It’s not a matter of willpower now – that kind of weakness, he’s certain, has passed for the time being – but of pure, physical strength. And Jūshirō has very, very little of that left.

But what can he do? The Squad Four barracks are only two blocks away, but he can barely move, let alone stand, let alone walk. He’s on his own, and he’s helpless. _If only Shun –_ he stops, feeling his reiatsu waver for a moment. _I-I mean… if only – if only – s-someone else, a-anyone else… were here…_

With an effort, he turns his head to the side, squinting at the window. _If… if I can just..._ He rolls onto his stomach, careful not to jostle any part of his body more than necessary – he’s unstable enough that nearly anything, he knows, could set him to coughing again. He pushes himself up onto his hands and knees and, slowly, agonizingly slowly, barely breathing for fear of undertaking too much at once, he begins to crawl towards the window. _Nearly there,_ he thinks when, a full five minutes later, he’s only halfway across the room. _Nearly there… nearly…_

Eventually, he reaches his destination. He slumps against the wall, completely drained of energy. With a trembling hand, he pries the window open, and then he rests his wrist on the sill, letting his hand dangle outside. A small sequence of coughs shoots out of him, and slick, hot blood fills his throat again – _please,_ he prays, _please –_ but before too long, he feels a faint tingling on his finger. _Thank you_ , he thinks, and he feels himself relax just a little. _I… I’ll be all right, now…_

He pulls his hand inside and eyes the little black-winged butterfly with an expression of relief. It’s almost funny, he reflects bitterly – just yesterday, he would have sent the butterfly to Shunsui without a second thought. _But now…_ He draws his other hand across his mouth, clearing away most of the blood, and tries to speak, but he only coughs instead. _Come on, Jūshirō… Come on…_

He tries again. His voice is only a whisper, but he manages to form words this time. _“Mai-chan…”_ he says faintly, his eyes sliding shut as he speaks. “You’re… I-I’m sorry, but you’re… not going to be very happy with me…”

 

***

 

Thursday morning.

Shunsui wakes again.

And all told, it goes considerably better today than it did the day before.

He doesn’t have a hangover – or, at least, that’s what he tells himself, refusing to believe that the cups of cheap, thin sake he drank at the ramen place and the bottle of cheap, thin sake he subsequently purchased, and opened, and finished by himself last night could _possibly_ do enough damage to give a man of his habits and stature a hangover. His head doesn’t hurt too badly. When he opens his eyes, the sun streaming through his window doesn’t make him squint.

He supposes he’s a little tired, though. And he feels a little shaky, too – but he figures he’s probably just dehydrated.

A logical conclusion, considering he spent more than half of last night puking his guts out.

 

***

 

Thursday afternoon.

Shunsui passes by Jūshirō’s barracks again on the way to his history lecture. He doesn’t give the building a second glance. He’s proud of himself for that, really – the way he sees it, it means he’s moving past the whole thing.

It feels weird not to have seen Jūshirō these past few days, though. Usually, they’ll cross paths and take an impromptu walk together, or grab an impromptu cup of tea, or decide that they have enough time for an impromptu spar. _He’s probably avoiding me_ , Shunsui thinks. _Not that I blame him._ Shunsui crosses his arms, and he wishes he’d thought to take a nip or two of sake before heading to class. It would make the time pass more quickly, if nothing else.

He takes his usual seat in the back of lecture hall and prepares himself for a solid two hours of zoning out. He’s not surprised to discover that his thoughts keep on slipping back to Jūshirō – and, for now, he lets them. It’s only been two days since… _since… all of that_ , he thinks, forcing images of beautiful, beautiful, half-dressed Jūshirō out of his mind so as to save himself any embarrassment or discomfort when he has to stand up again. It’s only been two days, yes – but Shunsui’s reached a pretty deep level of clarity in that short time.

Shunsui still wants Jūshirō – _that_ way. That much, he’s absolutely sure of.

To be fair, he hasn’t thought too much about it. Are there implications, he wonders? _Well. Probably…_ but somehow, that doesn’t bother Shunsui very much. He’s obtained a new piece of information about himself, is all; he’s figured out that he’s kind of into a dude. _A… a really, really handsome dude,_ he starts to think. _A dude who’s a better kisser than most of the women I’ve ever banged combined… those soft lips… that gentle grip on the back of my neck… hmmm… and the way he used his tongue to –_

 _Aw, JEEZ!_ He nearly smacks himself in the head for letting his mind wander that far. _Fuck – NO, Shunsui, no – at least wait til you’re outta class… jeez…_

But despite his best efforts, his thoughts stay on pretty much the same topic all through the lecture. When it’s over, Shunsui makes quick work of heading home – he’s been driving himself crazy for the past two hours, and his body’s telling him that he needs to take care of a thing or two before he can have any hope of being either productive or social later. He makes a brief stop to purchase a new bottle of sake on the way, though – after last night, he’s all out, and that simply won’t do.

Back in his room, Shunsui opens the bottle of sake and drinks deeply before he lays back on his sleeping mat to tend to himself. He closes his eyes, and he thinks of Jūshirō. Shunsui runs his free hand through his own hair, across his own stomach and chest, along the line of his own once-broken jaw, imagining that it’s Jūshirō’s hand, not his. Another image flashes across Shunsui’s mind – the image of Jūshirō’s red-rimmed eyes, of his perfect mouth whispering _“I can’t” –_ Shunsui seizes the bottle of sake and downs another few swallows, and he tells himself not to think of that part of the night – _Think of everything else, Shunsui – fuck, ANYTHING else –_ but those goddamn, sad, green eyes stick soundly in his head – _fuck – fuck – c’mon, Shunsui – ah – FUCK! –_

Even as Shunsui finishes, he’s thinking of Jūshirō’s tears, not his smile… of the hard words, not the kisses, that Shunsui somehow drew from Jūshirō’s lips…

 

***

 

Thursday night.

The bar’s jam-packed.

Shunsui’s dancing – go figure. He never dances.

The girl who dragged him out onto the dance floor is pretty cute, too – or, he’s fairly sure she is. Between the low lighting and the sake, her facial features are a little blurry. He can’t remember her name to save his life, but for what it’s worth, it doesn’t seem like she can remember his, either. Her hands are all over him, and he’s not exactly keeping his own hands to himself – she doesn’t even object when he pulls her in close and surreptitiously slips most of one hand underneath her shirt.

“I like your style,” he slurs to her.

“Thanks,” she says, pressing herself up against him. “Mind if I kiss you, Shi – um, Shu – um – ?”

 _“Shunsui_ ,” he whispers in her ear, “m’name’s _Shunsui.”_ He grabs her ass and urges her even closer. “And, yeah – s’fine by me!” He giggles. “B’sides, the guy I wanna kiss isn’t here anyway, so what do I care?”

She blinks. “The… h-huh?”

“S’nothin’,” he replies, moving in as smoothly as he can. “Don’t worry ’bout it. Bastard doesn’t even want me anyway. S’like I said – what do I care?”

She raises an eyebrow slowly and bites her lip. “You… wanna talk about it or somethin’?”

“No.” He shakes his head vigorously. “ _No_. I wanna kiss you.”

It’s a lie – he knows it’s a lie even before the sentence is halfway out of his mouth. But even so, the two of them taste each other in the middle of that dingy bar, barely coming up for air between messy, desperate kisses, and they stay firmly locked in each other’s arms until the manager kicks the few lingering members of the rowdy crowd outside after last call.

And after that, he turns left, and she turns right, and they go their separate ways.

 

***

 

Friday morning.

Jūshirō sleeps.

He’s not to know it, but he’s been sleeping for more than a day. It’ll be nearly two before he finally opens his eyes again tomorrow.

His fever hasn’t broken. His skin is still hot to the touch – Shimizu Mai knows this, because she began clutching tightly to his hand hours ago, and she hasn’t let go yet. The Squad Four attendants assure her that he’ll be all right, but despite the trust she places in them, she can’t help but feel a twinge of fear each time Jūshirō, his green eyes open but glassy and unseeing, his face just like that of a lost, scared child, shakes and gasps and coughs and stains his white sheets red with blood. It was yesterday, in the small hours of the morning, that that last happened, and it seems to her that the worst is over now – but she can’t tell, can never tell. And so, she continues to cling to her friend’s pale hand, and, silently, she waits.

 

***

 

Friday afternoon.

Shunsui wakes.

The hangover’s undeniable this time, dammit.

He sits up and presses his hands to his temples, as if trying to squish the pounding pain out through his eyeballs. Almost by reflex, he glances around the room for more sake – nothing, though. He’s drunk it all. Again.

 _I really should start buying more than one bottle at a time_ , he thinks, stretching and rolling his stiff neck around. For a moment, another thought flickers across his mind – _What the hell am I doing?_ –

And to his surprise, a voice answers him.

 _You’re coping,_ it says. _In your own, special way._

Shunsui glares across the room at his zanpakuto.

 _I told you he was dangerous, didn’t I?_ Katen Kyōkotsu continues. _I told you. And now – what? You’ve gone and lost your heart to that poor boy, and your mind to sake, haven’t you?_

“It’s not like that,” Shunsui growls.

 _Oh, please._ He can almost hear her smiling. _You’re hopeless. You’re a drunken, smitten fool, and you’re hopeless._

“Am _not_ – ”

_And if you keep this up, you’re going to stay that way._

“Wanna bet?”

_Bets aren’t so different from games, Shunsui. And you know how very, very good I am at games._

He takes in a long, deep breath to steady himself. _She’s right_ , he thinks, _isn’t she?_ “Maybe…” he says aloud, “maybe… maybe it’s kinda like that. Yeah. Fine. Yeah.”

A pause. Then – _It’s best that he turned you down, Shunsui._

He bristles. “Now _that_ ,” he says, “is takin’ it too far, lady – ”

 _TRUST me, Shunsui,_ she as good as shouts. He stops, shocked by how adamant she sounds. _It’s best he turned you down… it’s best you don’t get too close to him…_

“What do you – ?”

_It’s best you don’t get too close to anyone, Shunsui – anyone. You hear me, don’t you?_

His hands are shaking. _What?_ “Y-yes,” he manages, “I – I hear you, but what – ?”

 _Who do you think you are? A lover?! Hmm? A_ _friend?!_ Her words are seasoned with sharp, contemptuous humor. Then, a little more softly - _Shunsui,_  she says, y _ou can’t possibly understand it now..._   _but one day, you will. Don’t get too close to anyone, Shunsui. It’s for your good, and for everyone else’s._ He almost detects a note of sadness in her next words. _Especially a poor boy like him, I think. He’s suffered enough already._

He knows what he wants to say next. He knows what can counter her argument, if anything in the world can. He’s toyed with admitting it to himself before now, but this – somehow, this seals the deal. “M’lady,” he tries, his voice gentle, “I… I don’t think I can promise that. Y’see, the thing about him – a-about _Jūshirō_ – ” he feels her tense as he speaks the name – “th-the thing is, I… see, I think I might l– ”

 _No,_ she snaps, her voice like a whip. _No, Shunsui, you most certainly do not._

“How would you know, huh? How the _hell_ would you know?”

_We share a soul! How the hell could I NOT know?_

“Well, I – _we_ , if you fuckin’ like – have _never_ felt like this before! You gotta recognize that, at least! There’s gotta be somethin’ in _that_ , right?”

Another pause. _Perhaps,_ she eventually concedes. _But if that’s the case – and I’m not saying it is, Shunsui, so watch that tongue of yours – if that’s the case…_ still, her anger churns. _If that’s the case, then this is even more dangerous than I first thought._

“You wouldn’t be planning on elaborating any further, would you?”

 _Not for now,_ she says. She’s thinking, it seems to him. He waits. He knows she’s not done just yet. After a long, long minute, she speaks again. _I think it’s nearly time to teach you a new game, Shunsui._ That makes him nervous, but he doesn’t say anything. She knows he’s nervous – he knows that she knows. _It’s a game that two people can play – so, you can teach it to your poor, dear Shirō-kun, if you like…_

“You… you finally comin’ around to the idea?”

_Now, I never said that. But I won’t deny that I’m… intrigued. And… perhaps a little inspired, too. You’ll see, Shunsui. You’ll see._

He feels her presence fading as she starts to retreat. But as she does, he hears the traces of a few, lingering words – glimpses the smallest, faintest snippets of her thoughts –

 _Shirō,_ she’s thinking. _Shirō… like white…_

***

 

Friday night.

Shunsui’s tired and listless. He really doesn’t feel like going anywhere. But when his friends bang on his door, he opens it, and he reluctantly lets them drag him to another bar. _At least there’ll be sake,_ he reasons. He senses that Katen Kyōkotsu wants to scold him again; he ignores her.

Once at the bar, Shunsui sits in the corner and wordlessly pounds his drinks. He laughs at the right times and manages to keep his expression pretty benign, but the more he drinks, the darker his thoughts turn. Before it’s even midnight, he excuses himself, complaining of a headache, and makes his solitary way home. He watches his blue-cast shadow on the wall as it walks alongside him. _A blue shadow of a blue man,_ he thinks. _Awful fitting, isn’t it?_

Shunsui falls asleep early, and again, he dreams.

All is set against a backdrop of blinding white. There are hands – slender, delicate hands. Are they the hands of a woman or a man? Shunsui doesn’t know. Then, there is red – red, splattered haphazardly across alabaster skin – _beautiful – beautiful white, and beautiful red_ – even dreaming, Shunsui knows he’s growing warm, hot, heated – hands on his face, those same, slender, delicate hands – white fades – red grows, spreads – hands pressed against his chest, over his heart – his heart – his heartbeat picks up speed – one hand at his throat now, gripping tight – he feels the heel of the other hand slam into his eye, his right eye – _jeez, FUCK! – that HURT –_ for a moment, he can’t see, can't see anything –

His vision clears, and he’s falling. Falling slowly, as if through water. Cold currents tug at his clothes – the hands are gone now – _thank gods –_ and the world is blue, blue, blue – blue, like nighttime shadows, and blue almost like the depths of an endless ocean – _an ocean…_

He needs to breathe, he realizes. He tries to pull in a breath, but water fills his lungs – _shit – ah! – no – NO – shit –_ he can’t even gasp – he sees the wavering silhouette of those goddamn hands again, reaching for him – reaching – reaching – he tries to reach back, but he’s flailing – _shit – is – is this dying? shit – SHIT –_

He wakes, trembling, to cool, blue light. It’s different from that strange, underwater blue, but it’s eerily similar, too.

His eyes ache.

His heart aches.

He doesn’t fall asleep again.

He’s too afraid.

***

 

Saturday morning.

At long last, Jūshirō opens his eyes.

He’s alone, for the time being, but he thinks that might be for the best; he must, he supposes with a sardonic, little twitch of his lips, be in quite a state. He’s still terribly tired, and breathing still doesn’t come easily, exactly – not yet – but he feels worlds better than he did the last time he was conscious. He’s still shaking a little, but the oppressive heat from the fever is gone, and he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat. _Good – that means I’m recovering. Good._

He’s relieved. He won’t pretend he isn’t. Because this, he senses, is one of the closest calls he’s ever had.

Soon, one of the Squad Four attendants, a young, blond Shinigami with thick glasses and an eager, cheery disposition, enters. “Ukitake-san,” he says, smiling, “you’re awake!” Jūshirō only nods and returns the smile – he’s not sure his body will permit him to speak just yet. “That’s fantastic! Gosh – you had us worried there for a while, y’know?” ( _Very comforting,_ Jūshirō thinks.) “A-anyway – the Captain told me to bring you some tea when you finally woke up – how’s that sound?” And Jūshirō nods again, still smiling. “Great! I-I’ll be right back!

After the attendant bustles away, Jūshirō lets his eyes fall closed again. His reiatsu seems to have returned nearly to full strength – the work of the Squad Four Captain’s healing kido, no doubt. Maybe, he thinks, he’ll be feeling well enough by the afternoon to go outside – there’s a koi pond in the courtyard of the Fourth that he rather likes.

The attendant returns with the tea, and when he does, Jūshirō, much to his delight, manages to say a quiet “thank you.” The tea is bitter, filled with medicinal herbs of which Jūshirō has only a vague understanding, but he sips it gratefully nonetheless, realizing that it’s the first sustenance to have passed his lips in more than three days. Not long after, Shimizu Mai slips into the room, and for a moment, Jūshirō has a hard time determining whether her expression means that she wants to fling her arms around his neck, or that she wants to punch him in the face. Ultimately, she does neither, only takes a seat next to Jūshirō’s bed and periodically squeezes his hand in a gesture of comfort – _It’s more for her than it is for me_ , Jūshirō knows – and they proceed to talk quietly for an hour or so. _Well_ , reflects Jūshirō, smiling at the friend who may very well have saved his life, _she’s doing most of the talking, I suppose._ He doesn’t mind, though. He’s glad to listen, and he’s glad to have her company.

Even so, when she leaves, Jūshirō recognizes within himself a faint pang of loneliness – hers, it seems, wasn’t the company he really wanted. _My gods_ , he thinks, _really? Really, Jūshirō?_ It’s so pathetic that he nearly laughs. _Still, hmm? More than a few days and a bout of sickness later, and still – still – you’re thinking of him?_

He does laugh, after that. And then, he resigns himself to his wandering thoughts.

For whatever reason, it seems, there’s just _something_ about Shunsui that refuses to let him go.

***

 

Saturday afternoon.

Shunsui’s nervous as hell.

He isn’t sure, actually, whether he and Jūshirō are still on to spar or not. They haven’t talked about it – _haven’t talked about anything – shit, I haven’t seen his gorgeous face since fuckin’ Tuesday –_ but they’ve sparred every Saturday afternoon for the past several months, and he figures that, despite everything that happened between them, today shouldn’t be any different. Jūshirō’s still the only guy Shunsui knows who can keep up with him in a serious fight, and if nothing else, it would be a real shame to lose such a valuable sparring partner.

He takes a seat on the sidelines, and he waits. Katen Kyōkotsu seems to want to chat, but he’s entirely uninterested. He watches a few pairs of students training on the grounds to pass the time, trying his best to keep himself from feeling anxious. What will he say when Jūshirō arrives? _I guess I could start with “hi,”_ he thinks, glumly. _Better than nothing, right?_ He realizes with a start that keeping his focus is going to be mighty difficult if they strip down to their trousers, too. Knowing that, at any second, his blade could slice the pale, bare skin that Shunsui’s hands once treasured in the dark… _Jeez – talk about an exercise in concentration –_

 _Red on white_ , comes an unbidden thought. His thought, or Katen Kyōkotsu’s? _Beautiful, beautiful red on white… just like in the dreams…_

 _Enough_. He shakes his head. _Enough of that. I’m run ragged enough as it is without that bullshit, thanks._ And he resolves to keep his mind as blank as he can until his friend shows up.

Shunsui waits.

And he waits.

And he waits.

When an hour has passed, he lets out a heavy sigh, and he stands, grabbing Katen Kyōkotsu from her place on the ground as he does. _I shouldn’t be too surprised, should I? I shoulda guessed he wouldn’t want to spar with me anymore._ He trudges towards the door, head bowed, resigned, not really looking where he’s walking.

Which is why he bumps straight into the girl.

“Shit,” he stammers, seeing her stagger sideways, “s-sorry, are you – ?”

 _“Jeez_ , dumbass, watch where you’re – ”

“I _said_ I was sorry – ”

“Wait… hang on – ”

“H-huh?” Shunsui looks up. He can’t think of her name, but he sure as heck knows those red curls and that sweet, pretty face. “Oh, shit – hey,” he says. “You’re…”

“Reiko,” she says. “Kitagawa Reiko. And you’re… you’re Ukitake-kun’s friend – ”

“Uh.” He shuffles awkwardly. “Uh. S-something like that, yeah – ”

“From the bar – ”

“Y-yeah – ”

“Well, listen. If you see him anytime soon, tell him I’m not happy about Thursday, okay?”

“Uh. I… I dunno if I’ll be – uh – ” He pauses. “Uh – if you don’t mind me asking, what happened on Thursday? Dude still didn’t pick up on the fact that you wanted a date or something?”

“Worse,” she grumbles, not meeting Shunsui’s eyes. “The jerk blew me off. And seven o’clock is pretty damn early for some of us, y’know?”

That stops Shunsui cold.

“He never showed?”

“No. He didn’t.”

“And… and he didn’t send you a message or anything beforehand?”

“Not a single goddamn word.”

“Oh, jeez… aww, _shit – ”_

“Right? Ukitake doesn’t strike me as the kinda guy to go back on his promises or whatever, but I guess – ”

“No,” says Shunsui, turning away from her and walking quickly towards the door “no, you’re right – he’s not.”

“Hey,” she says, calling out to Shunsui as he opens the door, “what the heck? It’s kinda rude to just run off in the middle of a conversation, y’know – ”

“I – I’m sorry,” Shunsui yells over his shoulder, “I – I forgot, I – gotta go somewhere. I gotta go somewhere _now._ ” He’s sure she’s confused, and he definitively doesn’t care – but even so, he turns back one last time. “Oh, and Kitagawa-san? Don’t – uh – _p-please_ don’t be mad at him, okay?” His voice is strained, urgent.  “I _promise_ ,” he shouts as the door bangs shut behind him, _“Jūshirō didn’t blow you off.”_

 

***

 

Shunsui’s never been to the Squad Four courtyard before.

It’s a peaceful place. It’s fairly full of people, too – attendants with patients on their arms strolling among the flowers, a few robust-looking, bandaged soldiers from the Gotei lounging carelessly underneath the trees and comparing scars, squad members sitting side-by-side on benches, chatting in low voices, or reading – and all of this is somehow quiet, serene, as if there’s an unspoken agreement that everyone who enters the courtyard must work together to preserve this fragile but consistent slice of tranquility.

One man sits alone, apart from the rest. Shunsui’s breath catches. The man is huddled on the ground, wrapped in blankets despite the heat of the day, and has situated himself close to the edge of the koi pond on the courtyard’s right side. His back is to Shunsui, but Shunsui knows him immediately; and if there had been any doubt, the man’s white hair, gleaming in the sun, makes his identity perfectly clear.

“There he is,” the attendant says kindly, “right there. Although,” he adds, “he’s pretty hard to miss, isn’t he, with that hair of his?”

Shunsui’s mouth has gone dry. “Mm- _hmm_ ,” he manages, so quietly that he barely hears it himself. “Um. Th-thanks. I – uh – I-I’m good from here, I-I think.”

“Very good, Kyōraku-san.” The attendant gives a little half-bow, and turns to go back inside. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Shunsui makes himself put one foot in front of the other. The journey across the courtyard seems to take ages. _What am I gonna say?_ he finds himself thinking, for the second time that day. _I mean, “hi” is still better than nothing, I guess, but I –_

His foot catches - there's a big, old stick on the ground he didn’t see. He stumbles, and lets out an involuntary “Dammit!” much to the disapproval of the people in the immediate vicinity. “S-sorry,” he says, well aware that it’s not quite enough to make amends for yelling out a swearword in the middle of such a peaceful spot – and then he freezes, his embarrassment suddenly the least of his concerns.

There’s a pair of gorgeous, startled, riveted, green eyes staring up at him now, from just a few feet away.

Shunsui takes two more hesitant steps, closing the distance. _Say something, you moron. Even if it’s something simple – say something –_ Jūshirō’s expression is impossible to read. He doesn’t look angry, at least – that’s something – _Shit. What’s he thinking? He’s probably gonna hate the fact that I came to see him here – here, of all places, jeez –_

He stops walking. There’s nowhere else to go.

“Um,” says Shunsui.

Jūshirō’s still staring, face still inscrutable.

“Um,” he tries again. “U-um... Jūshirō, I-I…” He’s got nothing. Nothing. He has no idea what to say now. None. None at all.

And so, Shunsui swallows his pride, screws up his courage like he never has before, and does his best to smile.

“Um,” he says, for a third time. “Um… h-hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... what to say about this one? It was pretty exposition-y and plot-y, for me - a decent-ish chunk of time had to pass without a whole lotta stuff happening, anyway - and frankly, I kinda think that writing just about anything after writing the last chapter was bound to feel a little like a let-down. Heh. (I hope it doesn't read that way, though!) Got to explore Shunsui quite a bit with this chapter, though, which was nice, but overall, the whole thing does strike me as pretty straightforward...
> 
> So... I suppose that, for once (heh), I don't have a whole lot to say here! Except, of course - thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> (...also, please do excuse the artsy pretentiousness of this title. I... um. I kinda don't hate it. A-ahem.)


	11. Golden, Part II

_Better than nothing_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With that single word, with _“hi,”_ it’s like Shunsui’s entire brain becomes unlocked and starts spilling out through his mouth. “Jūshirō…” he says, “I – jeez – _fuck_ , I – you – _jeez_ , if I’d known where you’d been all this time, I’d’a – ”

“Sh-shunsui – ”

“ – b-but I didn’t know, I – I – no one _told_ me, and I – I-I thought – ”

“You – ”

“not… not that anyone woulda _thought_ to tell me, I guess – I mean, n-no one – I-I _mean_ , no one –”

“Shunsui… p-please…”

“I-I just figured you – you d-didn’t wanna – ”

_“Shunsui.”_

The force behind Jūshirō’s soft voice stops Shunsui’s runaway words in their tracks. Jūshirō takes one breath, then two – slow, measured, careful – before speaking again. He peers up at Shunsui. Those green eyes are gorgeous as ever, but the dark circles underneath them rob them a little of their usual liveliness. “…w-what are you doing here?”

“Uh.” Shunsui manages a shrug. “I… I wanted to see you, man.” It looks for a split second like Jūshirō’s going to smile, but it doesn’t quite happen. So, nervously, not sure whether saying it will be the worst decision he’s ever made, Shunsui adds, “And besides, you didn’t show up to spar today. Jerk move, there, blowin’ me off.”

Jūshirō does smile then. _Thank gods._ “Ah,” he says, a touch of humor glinting in his face. “Yes, you’ll… you’ll have to pardon me for that, I’m afraid.”

“You’re fully pardoned,” Shunsui says, without missing a beat. He glances downwards at the grass. “Uh. S-say. You… uh, would you mind if I…”

“Oh – please, yes! Yes, sit, Shunsui –”

“Cool –”

“Of course –”

“Y-yeah – uh, thanks…”

Slowly, slowly, Shunsui lowers himself to the ground beside Jūshirō, careful to keep a little distance between them. His friend – _Friend? Jeez, what do I even call the guy?_ – is gazing into the koi pond now, watching the brightly-colored little fish dart around just below the surface of the water.

And as Jūshirō looks at the fish, Shunsui, for the first time in days, looks at Jūshirō. _My gods,_ Shunsui thinks, finally taking Jūshirō in in full. _He… he looks…_ It seems to Shunsui that those weary, sunken eyes are the only spots of color anywhere in Jūshirō’s face. His cheeks are ashen and drawn. Even his lips have gone pale. There’s a curve to his shoulders that Shunsui’s never seen before, one that suggests dull, mindless submission – not defeat, but  something so like it that it’s almost shocking. And Shunsui would be kidding himself if he said he hadn’t noticed the way Jūshirō’s keeping his hands tightly folded, white-knuckled, in his lap, or the way they tremble faintly when the breeze picks up and he unclasps them to pull the blankets tighter around him, as if they’re some last line of defense.

 _He looks so small,_ Shunsui thinks. _So beaten-down. Bright-eyed, yes… but broken._

And yet –

_Broken, yes… but beautiful._

Jūshirō’s hand slips. He loses his grip on the blanket, and part of it blows sideways, right into Shunsui’s face. _“Ugh,”_ Shunsui splutters, batting the fabric away and grabbing hold of it himself. “Here, man,” he says, and, totally unthinking, he reaches around Jūshirō and adjusts the blanket until it’s settled comfortably on Jūshirō’s shoulders again.

And then he stops.

“Uh.”

His hand is resting pretty definitively on Jūshirō’s upper arm. _Let go – let go, Shunsui –_ “I – uh – ” _Let go, you idiot, let GO!_ He does, hastily retracting his hand and turning his face away. _Shit… ahh, SHIT…_ “Sorry,” he whispers.

“No, it’s – ”

“S- _sorry.”_

Jūshirō says nothing. His gaze is fixed on the koi pond again. Something about him seems far away, distracted. Shunsui doesn’t dare break the silence – he doesn’t have the right, somehow, the way he sees it. So, he sits, anxious, and makes a serious project of picking at a loose thread in the hem of his trousers.

After a long moment, Jūshirō finally says, “So. Ah – h-how are you?”

Shunsui keeps on picking at that thread. “Fine,” he says, not looking up. “I’m fine.”

“Ah. Th-that’s good.”

“Mm-hmm.” Shunsui winds the thread tight around the tip of his finger. “How ’bout you?”

“Oh – I’m fine, too.”

“Uh- _huh._ ”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re… fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” His fingertip has gone bright red with the lack of circulation. Shunsui grits his teeth and continues to stare fixedly downwards. “So,” he says, “this… this little trip to Squad Four was just for fun, huh?”

“Well, _you_ smell like sake.” The accusation is quiet, but it stings.

“So?” says Shunsui, eyes snapping up.

“Frankly,” Jūshirō adds, the smallest bit of color rising in his cheeks, “I… I didn’t want to say it, but… Shunsui, you look _terrible.”_

 “Oh yeah?” Shunsui feels like he’s been slapped. “So says _you_ , Squad Four boy.”

“You’re not fine, Shunsui.”

“Well, you’re not fine, either!”

“I have _quite_ a good reason for that, you know –”

“And – what?” Their voices are getting loud; at the moment, though, Shunsui doesn’t care. “You think I don’t?”

“I – I never said –”

“Sure sounded like that was what you _meant,_ though –”

“I _never_ said – !”

Jūshirō stops. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. His green eyes go wide, and they’re locked on Shunsui. “Shit,” Shunsui hears himself say, “ _shit_ … Jūshirō…?”

The next thing Shunsui knows, Jūshirō is bent over double, shoulders shaking, one hand pressed hard to his chest, the other clutching a small square of cloth that he brings to his lips to catch the blood that gathers there as he coughs, in thin, wrenching, rattling bursts, over and over and over again. _I want to help_ , Shunsui thinks fervently, _I want to help – w-what can I do? – I want to help –_ “Jūshirō,” he hears himself say again – _I – I want to –_ _w-want to –_

It’s too much.

He doesn’t even take the time to consider what he’s doing. For the first time since he’s known Jūshirō, Shunsui gives in to every single protective urge he has. He wraps his arms around his friend – because, despite everything that’s passed between them, Shunsui can’t help but think of Jūshirō as a friend, first and foremost – and he lets one hand splay firmly on Jūshirō’s back, while the other rests atop his shoulder. Shunsui pulls Jūshirō in close, hoping absurdly that maybe, _maybe_ , somehow, he’ll be able to steady Jūshirō with his contact.

“Hey, now,” he says, in a low, low voice, barely even aware that he’s talking, the words slipping out involuntarily, “ _hey,_ now. _Hey_ , Jūshirō, hey-hey-hey… it’s okay… it’s okay, you’re okay... _hey_ , now…” He runs his hand slowly, slowly, up and down Jūshirō’s back. _“Hey_ , now, Jūshirō…”

It takes time, but gradually, the intensity of Jūshirō’s coughing fades, and Shunsui feels his friend’s shaking begin to subside. Soon, Jūshirō’s taking these short, little breaths, ragged but regular, broken up only every now and then by a cough or two. And after a while – _How long?_ Shunsui wonders. _How long has it been? And how long have I… been holding him like this…? –_ after a while, the coughs die away altogether, and Shunsui is left with his friend in his arms, head bowed but tipped slightly sideways, so that it rests, heavily, as if in complete resignation, against Shunsui’s chest.

Shunsui lifts his hand from Jūshirō’s shoulder and lets it settle on the top of his friend’s head. He twines his fingers through that soft, shining, white hair, and he strokes it gently, hoping it comes across as a gesture of comfort, of reassurance. “Hey, now,” he says again, even more quietly this time. “I gotcha. I gotcha, Jūshirō. You’re okay, man. You’re okay….”

Jūshirō nods faintly. _“Thank you,”_ he whispers. And then – “I… I’m _sorry.”_

Shunsui’s hand stops moving in Jūshirō’s hair. “Uh. W-what?”

“I’m… sorry,” Jūshirō says again. He opens his eyes and glances up at Shunsui, offering a sad, little smile. “I… I don’t mean to presume, but I… I can’t help but think that _I’m_ the reason you look so… s-so…”

“…terrible?”

“W-well. I _really_ was trying to find another way to s-say it, but – ”

“Nah. It’s fair.” And Shunsui laughs – more out of relief than anything else, he’s pretty sure. “I know I look like shit. But…” He shakes his head. “S’not your fault, Jūshirō. I… I’ve done most of this to myself, I figure.”

“Mmm. Most of it.” Jūshirō reaches up to meet Shunsui’s hand with his own, and, gently, he guides it out of his hair and brings it down to rest on the grass. “Who did the rest?” he asks, his hold on Shunsui’s hand tightening.

“It’s not like that,” Shunsui says, matching the strength of Jūshirō’s grip. He sees Jūshirō about to protest, but he doesn’t give his friend the chance. “It’s _not_ ,” he repeats. “It… it doesn’t work like that. You can’t blame yourself for my fuck-up just ’cuz you were there when it happened, dude.”

“Ah.” Jūshirō grips Shunsui’s hand even tighter. “You… you _do_ think it was a mistake, then.”

“You – you mean – ”

“What – what we did. O-or – a-almost – a-almost did.”

_“No.”_

Jūshirō’s holding Shunsui’s hand so hard it’s starting to hurt. He’s staring at Shunsui again, blatant disbelief on his face. “Wh…. wh-what?”

“No,” says Shunsui. “No. That’s… that’s not where I fucked up, man.”

“Then… then, what… wh - ?”

“I shouldn’t’a left you that night, Jūshirō.” He meets those green eyes, hoping to the gods that he’ll be able to make it through the next few sentences without straight-up breaking down. “I shouldn’t’a left you. _That’s_ where I fucked up.” But then, embarrassed and unable to stop himself, Shunsui looks away for a second. “Well,” he says. “That… was the first place I fucked up, anyway.”

 

***

 

By the time Shunsui finishes telling Jūshirō about his week, it feels almost – almost, but not quite – as if things are just the way they used to be. Jūshirō listens to Shunsui’s rich voice, simultaneously shocked to hear that Shunsui has apparently worked his way through a full four bottles of sake, if not more, all by himself since Tuesday, and overjoyed that Shunsui is here speaking with him at all.

And, notably, Shunsui hasn’t broken contact with Jūshirō since that coughing fit – which must have been a good twenty minutes ago now. Jūshirō lets himself sink gradually deeper and deeper into Shunsui’s embrace, and he can’t help but smile, just a little, because he knows that Shunsui’s allowing it to happen. _He… he said it wasn’t a mistake_ , Jūshirō thinks, not for the first time, and his heart leaps. _We’ll have to talk eventually_ , he knows. _We’ll have to talk seriously about what happened, or we might lose something very special._ But now’s not the time; now simply doesn’t _feel_ like the time. Jūshirō’s sure of that much.

“I’m sorry you’ve had such a difficult few days,” Jūshirō says softly. “I wish I could have been there for you.”

“Eh. S’all right.”

Shunsui looks down at Jūshirō, who, by now, is nearly laying fully down in the grass, with his head resting on Shunsui’s knee. Shunsui takes a hand and runs it through Jūshirō’s hair again. _He really seems to like my hair, doesn’t he?_ Jūshirō thinks, surprised, and strangely amused. He’s always hated his hair. The way he sees it, his hair marks him, lets the world know before he even has the chance to demonstrate his extraordinary ability to cough and fall over at inopportune times, that he’s unusual. That he’s somehow different. _That I’m weak. That I’m sick._

“But, uh, say – ”

“Hmm?” Jūshirō says, snapping himself out of his musings.

“If – uh. If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you send me a message or anything?”

“O-oh...”

“I mean, I understand not wanting to talk to me after… well, y’know,” Shunsui says, his voice still gentle. “But, uh – I dunno, man. It just – it doesn’t seem like you. You – you’re not the type to get scared of that shit.”

“No, I… y-you’re right, I…”

“So, I… I have a guess.”

“…yes?”

 “And you gotta answer me honestly, okay?”

As if he could answer Shunsui any other way. “I will.”

“You couldn’t, could you?” Jūshirō feels Shunsui trying to meet his eyes; Jūshirō doesn’t let him. Not yet. “I mean…” Shunsui says, “I mean, like… physically, couldn’t.”

And Shunsui waits.

“…yes,” Jūshirō finally whispers.

“You must’a had it pretty bad this time.”

“I… I did, I suppose. Y-yes.”

“Real bad, actually, huh?”

“I-I – ”

“The attendant I was walking with told me you were out-fuckin’-cold for two whole days.” Shunsui’s voice is starting to waver a little. “That true?”

“A-ah… w-what day is it today?”

“ _Saturday,_ Jūshirō.”

“Then… th-that’s true, then.”

 _“And,_ ” says Shunsui, hands tightening on Jūshirō’s shoulder and in his hair, “the attendant _also_ said that the Captain oversaw the whole healing kido deal, too. The _Captain_ , Jūshirō. Is _that_ true?”

“I… I suspect so.” And then, knowing he might regret it but unable to hold it back, he adds, “I was a little too busy being _out cold for two whole days_ to notice, I confess.”

“Apparently, you were hangin’ on by a fuckin’ _thread_ when you showed up, man.”

“I – i-it’s not as though I –”

“You had Squad Four worried. _Squad Four._ And Squad Four sees people who’ve been sliced in half by hollows and shit on a regular basis, and that doesn’t freak ’em out, not usually, right? But you – _you_ made ’em nervous.” Shunsui stops. He closes his eyes, and takes a breath to steady himself. “And… that… that makes _me_ nervous, too, okay?” He opens his eyes again. “Jūshirō…”

“…yes?”

“Jūshirō, if we’re gonna be – well, we’ll talk about that later, I guess, but – i-if we’re gonna – stay _friends_ , at _least_ , you… you gotta be honest with me about this shit.”

“I…” Jūshirō chews his lip. “I… d-didn’t want you to worry –”

“Well, that backfired, didn’t it? I… _listen_ , man.” Shunsui’s hands relax, and, gently, he starts to stroke Jūshirō’s hair again. “I don’t _care_ about that. If you’re ever not okay, I’m gonna find out one way or another, understand? So, when I ask you how you’re doin’, and in fact, you just about _died,_ you can’t say ‘fine,’ you got th– ” Jūshirō feels tension shoot through Shunsui’s entire body. “Sh-shit,” he says, “I… I didn’t mean –”

“No,” says Jūshirō, propping himself up on one elbow and turning to face Shunsui. “No. It’s all right. You’re… you’re right. I… th-there were moments when I…”

“ _Shit._ I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t be – not for that –”

“Seriously? I feel pretty freakin’ _stupid_ for sayin’ –”

“ _Don’t_. Please – _please_ , don’t. Like I said – not for that.” Then, quietly, Jūshirō says, “Besides. I’m… I’m rather used to it by now, anyway. P-people saying that sort of thing. A-about me.”

“…oh.”

Shunsui looks like he has something more to say. Jūshirō watches him considering. _He’ll say it eventually,_ Jūshirō thinks – he knows Shunsui well enough by now to know that. _He’s not sure whether it’s the right thing to say, whatever it is, but he’ll say it eventually…_

“Jūshirō, I’ve gotta ask you something.”

 _There it is._ “Yes?”

“Maybe… maybe it’s none of my business, but…” He shakes his head once, twice, looking like he’s trying to get the words right. “You’ve never really told me… uh… what it is you’ve got goin’ on. I mean, it’s clear enough that you’ve got – uh – _something_ going on, something pretty serious, but… but you’re at the Academy, too.” He glances sideways at Jūshirō, as if afraid that looking him full in the face wouldn’t be appropriate, somehow. “And that… doesn’t add up. I mean, there’s your spiritual pressure, I guess, and your swordsmanship skills – shit, even kido – but… how does a guy like you get to thinkin’, ‘Hey, I know, I’ll stick myself into basically the most physically taxing environment in the whole freakin’ Soul Society and see what happens,’ huh?”

“…ah.”

“I… I know it’s kind of a loaded question, but I… I mean, if we’re gonna be… f-friends, I…”

“No,” says Jūshirō, “no. You’re right to ask. It’s… it _is_ a bit strange, isn’t it?” Jūshirō looks up at Shunsui, knowing he could give dozens of answers, all of which would satisfy him. But, for perhaps the first time in his life, Jūshirō finds himself wondering whether he should tell… _everything_ …

 _How much do I want to tell this man?_ Jūshirō asks himself, but then he realizes that this is a dreadful way to phrase the question. _I… I want to tell this man everything!_ He puts a hand to his chest, feels that strange power thrumming within him, massive and uncanny, tapping out promise after promise beneath his skin. Promises of life, promises of saving grace, yes – but promises like time ticking away, too, promises about inevitability and sacrifice… and yet… _Yes,_ pleads Jūshirō’s heart, _yes! Tell him everything! Yes! Tell him –_

The power surges. All of a sudden, Jūshirō’s chest feels tight again – _a warning_ , he can’t help but think. He feels his body tense, and he focuses on his breathing – _easy, now – steady, now –_ and he tries desperately to cling to his composure, tries to force that tightness away before Shunsui notices – but with the two of them this close, that’s impossible. Shunsui turns sharply, a look of worry crossing his features. Jūshirō squeezes Shunsui’s hand. “I’m fine,” he says. Shunsui makes a face. Jūshirō returns the face, unfazed. “I _mean_ it this time, Shunsui. I’m _fine_. This –” But then, as if his body has taken a distinct interest in rendering his words grossly ironic, he lets out a small, short sequence of coughs. It isn’t much this time, and it isn’t dangerous – but _damn_ if it isn’t frustrating. “This…” Jūshirō finishes after the coughing ends, “…this will pass.” He closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted. “It… always does.”

Shunsui’s earlier question still hangs, almost palpably, in the air between them. Jūshirō knows he needs to answer, but he’s still unsure of how to do so. _I truly could tell him everything,_ Jūshirō thinks. _I truly could. This man… Shunsui… I… I could…_

He can’t quite put a finger on what stops him. Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve only known each other for half a year. Maybe it’s everything that happened – and everything that didn’t – on Tuesday night. Maybe it’s the tightness that rose in his chest just minutes ago when he considered revealing the truth. _I could tell Shunsui everything,_ Jūshirō finds himself thinking –

But whatever the reason, Jūshirō also finds himself thinking – _but not yet._

 

***

 

_Well._

_I knew it was a complicated question,_ _but… shit, I didn’t know it would take him this long to answer…_

But Shunsui’s willing to be patient. It’s a pretty heavy subject, after all.

If Jūshirō needs time, then so be it.

The light in the courtyard is beginning to fade now, as the afternoon ends and dusk begins. Small beams of golden light shoot down through the scant treetops overhead, dappling the ground, and dappling Jūshirō’s closed-eyed face, too, and reflecting gorgeously off of that white hair, making it gleam almost silver.

Shunsui’s still waiting for his answer, but after a while, he recognizes that the silence between them has stretched on for quite some time. He looks down at Jūshirō, his head in Shunsui’s lap, one of his hands still clasping one of Shunsui’s – the one that Shunsui rests on Jūshirō’s shoulder. Jūshirō’s breathing slowly and deeply, almost as if he’s –

_Now, hang on just a second._

Shunsui smiles.

“Say,” he says quietly, “Jūshirō?”

Those green eyes flutter open. “Hmm?” Jūshirō says, seeming just a little distracted. “Wh-what?”

Shunsui’s smile grows. “…you awake?”

“Of _course_ I am,” Jūshirō mumbles, frowning. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” But a split second later, his eyes slip closed again.

“Uh- _huh_ ,” Shunsui says, bordering on laughing out loud now. It’s pretty clear that he won’t get his answer today. Jūshirō will tell him in time, Shunsui’s sure. And really, that’s just fine by him.

Because right now, right here, this – this extraordinary, singular moment – is all Shunsui needs.

 _We’re gonna be all right,_ Shunsui knows now. That Jūshirō has let himself to succumb to this tiredness, and that he hasn’t pulled away from Shunsui’s arguably excessive gestures of comfort, too, speaks volumes. There’s no bitterness lingering from the gods-awful end to that night, no fear, no distrust. Shunsui reaches once more for Jūshirō’s hair, twirling a few snow-white strands around his finger. _We’re gonna be all right._ _I dunno how, just yet,_ he thinks, his eyes straying to Jūshirō’s soft, sweet lips, and to the shock of pale skin at his collar, _but somehow, some way – Jūshirō and me? We’re gonna be all right._

It’s a sleepy time of day, that’s for sure. Shunsui realizes that his own eyes have grown pretty heavy. He considers. It’s warm out here in the courtyard, but Jūshirō’s hand is a little cold… _which means the rest of him probably is, too. That can’t be good for the guy… right?_ Shunsui smiles again. _It’s an act of charity,_ he thinks. _That’s what it is. An act of charity. Heh._

Slowly, Shunsui uncrosses his legs and lowers himself to the ground beside Jūshirō, so that the two of them are laying side-by-side. He tucks one arm underneath Jūshirō and shifts Jūshirō’s head so that it’s resting fully on his chest.

Jūshirō stirs, and, blearily, opens one eye. “H-huh?” he says, looking very confused and very, very adorable.

“S’nothing,” Shunsui says, not even trying to keep the smile from his face. “C’mere, Jūshirō.” And he wraps both arms firmly around his friend, pulls him in close, and lays one gentle hand atop that white head. “You’re tired, huh?”

“Tired,” Jūshirō murmurs, both eyes closed again. “Mm- _hmm_.”

“Then, you sleep,” Shunsui tells him, moving his fingertips in delicate little circles in Jūshirō’s hair. “You sleep, man. Tell you the truth, I could use some shut-eye myself. Had kind of a bad dream last night.”

“Oh? Oh. M’sorry, Shunsui,” Jūshirō says, and one of his hands starts feeling haphazardly around on the grass, his intentions perfectly clear, but his actions lagging behind just a little. _He’s talking to me in his sleep,_ Shunsui realizes. _Oh, jeez… he’s totally out of it…_ It’s so damn cute that Shunsui hardly knows what to do with himself. Eventually, Jūshirō seems to figure out where Shunsui actually is, and he lets his hand settle on Shunsui’s upper arm, and he pats it reassuringly. “Well,” he says, “I’m here now. So don’t you worry about your bad dreams. Okay?”

Shunsui chuckles. “’kay, you sleepy little boy, you.”

“I’m _serious_ ,” Jūshirō says, screwing up his face. “You have ’nother bad dream, you wake me up ’n tell me about it. ’N it’ll _all_ be okay.” In his sleep, Jūshirō smiles – and it’s the purest little smile Shunsui thinks he’s ever seen. “It’ll _all_ be _okay…_ "

 _Oh… oh, gods…_ Shunsui hugs Jūshirō tight. “Y’know what, man?” he says, voice cracking thanks to the lump of emotion that’s suddenly risen in his throat, “I… call me crazy, but I… I think you might be right.” On an impulse, Shunsui brings his lips to Jūshirō’s forehead, and kisses him there, firmly but sweetly, just once. And Jūshirō sighs, content.

With that, Shunsui lets his own eyes drop closed, feeling sleep start to work its way into his bones. He holds his friend close and breathes him in, breathes in _Jūshirō,_ and he feels the smile on his face grow even wider.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks, scarcely daring to believe how lucky he is. _Yeah. Jūshirō and me?_

_We’re gonna be all right._

 

***

 

Squad Four requires that any patients in the courtyard return indoors after sunset. It’s the task of Saito Haru, the enthusiastic, blond, bespectacled attendant, to ensure that the courtyard is clear once darkness falls.

Haru steps out into the warm night air of summer and scans the courtyard, squinting a little through his glasses. The courtyard is almost empty – but, Haru sees, not entirely. He cocks his head to the side, trying to make some sense of the figures next to the koi pond, and, slowly, he pads forward. Two boys, one wearing a rumpled Academy uniform, and the other dressed in a standard-issue Squad Four patients’ yukata, are locked in each other’s arms at the edge of the pond. When he gets close enough, Haru recognizes the Ukitake boy – the one to whom he brought tea just this morning.

 _Well, now,_ Haru thinks, mildly surprised. _How about that!_ For a moment, he only stands and watches, transfixed by the simple beauty of seeing the two of them together like that. _It’s good that the poor Ukitake boy has someone like that in his life_ , Haru decides as he regards the other boy, the dark-haired one in the Academy uniform, a little more closely. _It’s good he’s found someone to love._ Because of course, of _course_ , the two of them are lovers – it doesn’t even occur to Haru that they might be anything else.

The Ukitake boy stirs in his sleep, and, seemingly unconsciously, the dark-haired one moves his hand from where it’s resting on that white head to the Ukitake boy’s shoulder, and he runs it up and down his arm a few times until the Ukitake boy settles, curling even tighter into his companion’s embrace. Haru could swear he hears the Ukitake boy laugh just a bit; certainly, even in the dark, Haru can see a subtle, little smile cross his pale face. _Someone to love – and someone who loves him, too. Yes_ , Haru thinks. _It’s good. It’s very good indeed._

There’s such innocence, such utter peace, in what he sees. Haru sighs as he approaches the koi pond, regretting that he’ll have to shatter it.

 _How wonderful_ , he thinks, _would it be if they could know this peace forever? How wonderful would that be?_

Haru smiles, a little sadly.

He wishes he didn’t have to wake them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Hi!  
> I cannot even /tell/ you how nice it was to write some happy stuff this week, you guys. It's been a while, hasn't it? But, hey - the boys needed to earn the fluffy parts of their story with the super, super angst-ridden ones from before, right? Or - uh - something like that? That's how I'm rationalizing it, anyway. Heh. I hope it paid off.  
> Also, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, too. Of /course./  
> And, as always - thanks so, so, very much to all of you for reading :)


	12. Blood-Red, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning: Potential shades of non-con in the final section of this chapter. Very, very minimal - not even sure if it even qualifies, really - but I figured I'd include the warning, because, as usual, I'd rather be safe. Thanks, everyone. Enjoy!

Shunsui’s pretty sure that the words “nervous wreck” are too strong to describe his present condition.

The end to the summer hasn’t brought an end to the heat, not yet. The early days of September still bear down oppressively upon the Academy, bright sun streaming and thick air buzzing with big, lazy bugs and with the listless chatter of even the most dedicated students. The autumn term began two weeks ago, and the initial excitement of new classes and new instructors and new opportunities died rapidly, thanks to the dreary, sluggish weather.

Strictly speaking, Shunsui is doing everything right. He’s going to his classes, regularly and punctually, he’s completing his work on time, and he’s even laid off the sake a little bit, too. And the way he sees it, the bags under his eyes and the wrinkles in his uniform are easy to ignore. It isn’t all good, of course – even Shunsui is willing to recognize that. Katen Kyōkotsu won’t leave him alone, for one thing, and those gods-awful nightmares aren’t getting any better, for another. But more than that…

_Jūshirō…_

It’s been about a week since Jūshirō was released from Squad Four.

It’s been about two weeks since Shunsui visited him there, and they slept, interlocked like a pair of lovers, in the courtyard.

It’s been nearly three weeks since that messy, messy, rainy Tuesday night.

And they still haven’t talked about any of it.

Things haven’t been _weird_ between them, exactly. They’ve just been… _different_. Somehow, they’ve stumbled into an unspoken agreement to go through these awkward, stilted motions of friendship – and nothing more. Possibly, it’s because the start of the new term has swept them up in its inevitable torrent of activity, and they truly haven’t had time to talk, but Shunsui thinks that’s pretty unlikely. He’s made a few attempts to broach the subject, but each time, Jūshirō waves away his words with a nervous laugh, a meager excuse, or a mention of something entirely unrelated. It seems to Shunsui that, for better or for worse, Jūshirō is avoiding the subject, pure and simple. Shunsui can’t make sense of it – after all, it’s not like Jūshirō isn’t thinking about the same things Shunsui is. If nothing else, Jūshirō’s reiatsu, try and hide it though he might, regularly reveals as much.

How long, Shunsui wonders, are they – is _Jūshirō_ – going to keep up this farce? In fact – why freakin’ _bother_ with the farce in the first place?

Shunsui can’t say.

And it’s _frustrating._

Thing is, he’d kinda figured that their afternoon in the courtyard had made it clear enough what they both wanted. But when he’d visited Jūshirō again a few days later, inside the Squad Four barracks this time, Jūshirō had only acted reserved and polite – excessively so, Shunsui had thought. They’d chatted exclusively about safe subjects, like class schedules and weapons techniques. Shunsui sure as hell wasn’t about to mention that Tuesday night – maybe he’d been playing it too safe, but he hadn’t wanted to drag that kind of excitement into the conversation with Jūshirō still in Squad Four – and Jūshirō hadn’t brought it up either. ~~~~

So, feeling bold, and tiny bit reckless, Shunsui had scooted his chair forward, closer to Jūshirō’s bed. Jūshirō had noticed – of course he had – but he’d said nothing. As they’d continued to talk, Shunsui had continued to move closer, and closer, and closer, and eventually, he’d gotten so close that it had been easy for him to lay a hand on Jūshirō’s arm or shoulder as he spoke. And each time he’d done so, he’d felt Jūshirō’s reiatsu leap just a little, had heard his breath hitch ever so slightly, had seen the color rise in his pale cheeks. _You… gonna say something, green-eyed boy?_ Shunsui had wondered, hoping that maybe, _maybe_ , Jūshirō would cast his politeness to the side for one goddamn minute and shatter the unacknowledged tension between them.

No such luck, though, no matter how many times Shunsui had established, broken, and re-established that physical contact. _What’s with him?_ Shunsui had thought. _He seemed comfortable enough that day in the courtyard, didn’t he? Why… gods, why…?_

Shunsui hadn’t been able to figure it out – and before long, he’d gotten pretty fed up with the whole thing. A plan, albeit a haphazardly formed one, had started to unfold in Shunsui’s mind. _I wonder… maybe I can nudge him just enough…_

“Think there’ll be any cute girls in zanjutsu class this term?” Shunsui had tried. “Ain’t nothin’ like watching a sexy lady handle a sword, am I right?”

Jūshirō had flushed bright red. His reiatsu had flared – _Jealousy?_ Shunsui hadn’t been able to keep the grin off of his face. _Ha-ha… jealousy! Hot damn, that’s exactly what it is! You’re not as subtle as you’d like to be, my beautiful, green-eyed boy…_ “What’s up, dude?” Shunsui had asked, all innocence.

“Y-you… shouldn’t talk about women that way,” Jūshirō had stammered. “It’s… i-it’s a little disrespectful, you know.”

“Uh- _huh_ … _”_

“What? It is! It’s –”

 _“…_ and that’s all?

“…what?”

“That’s all? That’s the only thing you’re worried about right now, huh?” A pause, then. Jūshirō’s lips had quivered as he struggled, _clearly_ struggled, to figure out how best to respond. “ _Listen_ , man,” Shunsui had said, his voice soft. “We… we should _talk_ about this, don’t’cha think? It… it doesn’t have to be _now_ , I guess, but… I mean, I, for one, still feel like – I _mean_ , I – I still–”

But Jūshirō had interrupted. “You know? I – ” he’d said, “I – I-I’m feeling a little tired, actually. You – you wouldn’t mind if I –?”

 _You’ve gotta be kidding me,_ Shunsui had thought. But, like the good friend he was trying to be, he’d only said, “…okay. Yeah. Sure thing, dude,” and Jūshirō had visibly relaxed. “Sleep away,” Shunsui had added, with a cavalier wave of his hand. “Get your strength back.”

“Good. Great – ah – th-thanks –”

“ ’Course. No worries, man.” But then, on something like a whim, Shunsui had added, “You… want me to stay?” His throat had felt dry. “I… can stay, y’know. I don’t mind.”

“Oh… y-you – you certainly don’t have to –”

“That’s… that’s not what I asked, man.” He’d stood then, and, heart pounding and hands sweating for no good goddamn reason, he’d leaned in even closer. “Do you… _want_ me to stay?”

Shunsui had known the answer. He’d been pretty sure that Jūshirō had known it, too. _But what’s he gonna say? That’s the real question – what’s he gonna let himself say?_

Jūshirō hadn’t seemed able to look at Shunsui. “W-well. A-ah…” _C’mon, Jūshirō…_ “…I-I… a-ah…” _Say it, man… say you want me to stay…_

Shunsui hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. He’d taken a step forward, had extended a hand, and had, with only his thumb and forefinger, touched the tender skin beneath Jūshirō’s chin and had tipped his friend’s head up, just enough to render it strange for Jūshirō not to meet Shunsui’s eyes. “Hey,” Shunsui had said, his voice low. “It’s… okay to want stuff, y’know. If you want something… you can say so…”

“I…” Jūshirō’s reply had barely been a whisper. “I… I-I _know_ that…”

“Do you?”

“Yes… y-yes, I –”

“Then, Jūshirō, I’m askin’ you – do you _want_ me to stay here?”

A smile, then. A twitch from Jūshirō’s reiatsu. “W-well.” The smile had grown, just a little. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Uh-uh,” Shunsui had said, matching Jūshirō’s smile. “You gotta say it, man.”

“W-well –”

“You gotta say it, man, or I’m outta here –”

“Shunsui!” Jūshirō’s hand had lashed forward, and Shunsui had felt long fingers close around his wrist. _Amazing reflexes,_ Shunsui remembers thinking, _even when he’s only at half-strength._ “I…”

“Yeah?”

“I…” Green eyes closed, but grip on Shunsui’s wrist tight like a freakin’ vice, Jūshirō had finally said, “Yes, Shunsui, I… I want you to stay.”

And, of course, Shunsui had stayed.

That had been a week ago, though. And thanks to the lethal combination of the chaos of the start of the new term, Jūshirō’s twice-damned insistence on being so maddeningly proper, and Shunsui’s thrice-damned fear of upsetting the delicate balance of the whole thing, Shunsui hasn’t managed to so much as hold Jūshirō’s hand since then, let alone _kiss_ him, let alone… _anything else…_

Frankly, it’s driving him straight-up crazy.

Shunsui frowns.

He needs a plan.

 

***

 

Jūshirō’s thrilled to be back on his feet.

He’s thrilled that classes have begun, and he’s thrilled to have fallen back into something like a normal routine – he’s had quite enough of healing kido and bitter teas and needles jabbed into his arms for the time being, _thank_ you very much. He strolls leisurely through the Seireitei on his way to his kido lecture, savoring the feelings of the breeze in his hair and the sun on his skin. It’s a good day today, he decides. A very good day indeed.

That said, Jūshirō surely isn’t about to pretend that his nerves aren’t a little bit frayed. It would be easy to put it down to fatigue, to his sickness, to stress caused by schoolwork – to dozens of things, really – but as Jūshirō rounds the corner of the lecture hall, he sees the real reason for his frayed nerves raise a hand in greeting and wave it rapidly back and forth, a big, bright grin splitting its stubbly face.

_Shunsui…_

Jūshirō only smiles back. What else can he do? He _is_ genuinely happy to see his friend, after all.  And when they’d discovered two days ago that they’d been placed in the same kido lecture, they’d decided to sit next to each other without, it seemed, so much as a second thought. Together, they’d chosen a section of the lecture hall slightly closer to the front than Shunsui would have preferred, but slightly closer to the back than Jūshirō would have preferred, and they’d settled themselves side-by-side on the bench. Jūshirō had been careful to keep his reiatsu in check – but, he’d noticed, Shunsui hadn’t bothered to do the same. Shunsui’s reiatsu had pitched and swelled and spiked like crazy, fierce and bold and unhindered. _Because he’s… glad to be sitting next to me? So glad that… it affects his reiatsu?_

It still feels too good to be true – surely, Jūshirō has convinced himself it _is_ too good to be true – but it’s the only possible explanation. The signs are there, and Jūshirō knows it. And as he and Shunsui file into the lecture hall and take their seats again today, Jūshirō feels Shunsui’s reiatsu give another excited jump. But then, it shoots rapidly downwards, as if Shunsui has yanked it back – as if Shunsui realized too late that another person might have felt that jump happen.

Or, as if Shunsui _wanted_ another person to feel it happen.

Jūshirō’s eyes flick sideways to Shunsui.

Shunsui’s eye flick sideways to Jūshirō.

Jūshirō laughs. It’s a forced, broken-up sound, and it’s higher-pitched than he’d expected it would be.

Shunsui clears his throat. Runs a hand through his mess of chestnut curls. Scratches the back of his neck. Chews on his lip, a mischievous gleam in those grey eyes. _I could get lost…_

And then Jūshirō starts.

_My own reiatsu – Oh, gods! – L-lost control, I –_

“Hey,” Shunsui says, offering Jūshirō a sliver of that grin from before. “S’okay, man.”

“I… a-ah, I –”

“I mean it.”

“R-right…”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, y’know –”

“I… I _know_ –”

The instructor has made her way to the front of the class. She situates herself behind the lectern and cracks open her battered textbook. Jūshirō watches her, not sure he can trust himself to look at Shunsui and maintain the steadiness of his reiatsu at the same time.

“I _mean_ it,” Shunsui says again. “Y’know, Jūshirō –”

“I… Shunsui, I… I’m not _embarrassed_ –”

“O- _kay_ … first off, you’re a big ol’ liar,” Shunsui says, smirking. “And second off,” he continues, “that’s _not_ what I was gonna say.”

Jūshirō dares to glance at his friend. “We… should pay attention,” he says. “The lecture’s about to start.”

“Don’t’cha wanna know what I was gonna say, though?”

“Surely – surely it can wait –”

“I mean, _probably,_ yeah, but all I was gonna say was –”

“ _Shhh!_ She’s looking right at us! Do you _want_ to get in trouble the first week of classes?”

“Second week.”

“S-second week – I – _fine_. My point still stands.” The instructor taps her pointer on the lectern and, in her resonant voice, launches into an explanation of mid-level Bakudo techniques. Jūshirō arches an eyebrow, admittedly feeling rather satisfied. “And _now_ you don’t have a choice,” he says. “The lecture’s started. Tell me after? O-okay?”

“Jeez. You’re no fun.”

“Well. You already knew that.”

Jūshirō opens his textbook to the page he needs, and starts to look for the passage that the instructor has begun to read from – but then something that feels suspiciously like a fingertip pokes his arm.

He fixes his features into what he hopes is a menacing glare. “… _yes?”_ he whispers, turning to Shunsui.

“I was _just_ gonna say –”

“Oh, _come_ on!”

“I was _just_ gonna say…” Shunsui’s face gets all wry-looking, and he leans forward in what Jūshirō’s certain his friend thinks is a suave, roguish manner. “Things… don’t have to change just ’cause you’re outta Squad Four, okay?”

Jūshirō blinks. “Wh… what does _that_ mean?”

“It _means_ ,” says Shunsui, “that whatever you think your reiatsu should or shouldn’t be tellin’ me – jeez, just _let it slide,_ dude – it’s pretty freakin’ obvious, so don’t think I haven’t noticed – it _means…_ ” Shunsui grins in earnest now. “…that it’s _still_ okay to ask if you want stuff. You get me?”

 

***

 

Jūshirō gets him – Shunsui knows he does. The poor guy’s reiatsu does a freakin’ somersault, and he blushes, fiercely. “ _Shunsui,”_ Jūshirō hisses. “Shunsui, we’re in _class – !”_

But Shunsui only chuckles. “Yeah?” he says. “And?”

“We… we’re in _class…_ ”

“Guess what? I’m aware of that.”

“Then – p-perhaps you could _behave_ like –”

“ _Look_ ,” Shunsui says, in a sharp whisper, “here’s what I was thinkin’. You don’t seem to want to talk to me – not for real – when we’re _not_ in class, so I figured, why not try –”

“That – that doesn’t make any sense!”

“Only fair. Seeing as _you_ haven’t been makin’ a whole lotta sense these past few days either.”

“I…”

“Fine – _fine_.” Shunsui leans back in his seat and regards Jūshirō with cool determination. “But after this lecture – whaddya say we grab a drink and actually figure out what the hell’s goin’ on?” Seeing Jūshirō’s look of mild panic, he adds, “ _Tea_ this time! Jeez, man, even _I_ know that’s a better way to go for something like this.”

“U-um.”

“What kind of objection could you possibly have _now_ , huh?”

“It’s just –”

“Yeah?”

“Um – i-it’s Tuesday. Don’t we usually spar on Tuesday afternoons?”

“Well, _yeah_ , last term – but with our new schedules or whatever, we –”

“Do you have another class after this?”

“Uh – _no_ , but –”

“Well! It’s settled, then – let’s spar after class, shall we? Tuesday afternoons – same as last term!”

Shunsui eyes his friend warily. He’s not sure how to phrase his worry – gods know it’s not going to come out tactfully, no matter what he does. Even so, he says, “Are you… sure you’re in okay shape to spar?” Jūshirō’s green eyes flash. “I mean – I don’t mean to be – like – _man_ , whatever, but – you can’t blame me for asking, right?”

“I,” says Jūshirō, face darkening, “am _fine_.”

“ _Fine_ ,” repeats Shunsui, sighing and leaning forward on the tabletop. “My absolute favorite word to hear you say.” He crosses his arms and lays his chin in the crook of one of his elbows. “Okay, then – _fine_. We’ll spar this afternoon, Jūshirō. If _that’s_ what you really want.”

“It – i-it is.”

“Yeah? It is?”

“It _is._ ” Then, as if to compensate somehow for the exchange that just happened, he offers a pitiful, little smile. “Now – ah – i-if you don’t mind,” he says, “I’ve got some Bakudo to learn.” And with that, Jūshirō turns back to his textbook and fixes his gaze determinedly on the page.

Shunsui watches. He feels his friend very, very deliberately reel in every last bit of tension, of carelessness, of lack of control, in his reiatsu. It sucks, big-time, but he’d expected as much, really – had expected that Jūshirō might get all anxious and defensive again.

 _Dammit_ , he thinks glumly. _I’m gonna need an even better plan_.

 

***

 

As the class continues, the lecturer’s words drift hazily over Shunsui’s head. Before long, he becomes dimly aware of the fact that his eyes are slipping closed. He could fight it, he figures, but that would require _so_ much effort… why bother, when instead he could… just…

Someone’s nudging his arm.

 _Ugh,_ thinks Shunsui. _Five more minutes…_

“Shunsui…?”

It’s a whisper. A familiar one, too – but Shunsui doesn’t bother to place it. He just wants to sleep, goddammit. He’d been dozing dreamlessly this time, too, and that’s a rarity these days.

“ _Shunsui._ Hey – wake _up_.”

Begrudgingly, Shunsui opens his eyes. He turns to his right, and sees Jūshirō’s disapproving face, eyebrows meaningfully raised and mouth downturned. “What’d I miss?” Shunsui whispers back. “Anything important?”

“A good twenty minutes on Bakudo, for one thing.”

“So… no, then?”

He can tell that Jūshirō thinks it’s at least a _little_ bit funny – he knows by now what it looks like when Jūshirō’s trying his upright, good-student best not to smile. Jūshirō shakes his head. “I’ll fill you in later,” he says. “For now… try and stay awake?”

Shunsui rolls his eyes. “Yes, sensei.”

Shunsui doesn’t fall asleep again during the lecture, but it’s not like he pays attention, either. To keep himself occupied, he invents a new game for himself. He glances sidelong at Jūshirō, at studious, devoted Jūshirō, following the instructor’s every word and taking dutiful notes in that neat, flowing hand of his.

Shunsui slides about a centimeter closer to Jūshirō on the bench.

It doesn’t seem like Jūshirō’s noticed.

Shunsui almost laughs.

_This… this could be fun…_

Shunsui waits about a minute, and then he slides a little closer. Still, Jūshirō’s attention is focused singularly on the lecture. Shunsui waits – and then he slides closer again. He waits – and he slides. And he waits – and he –

And then, after about ten minutes’ worth of very, very slow progress, Shunsui’s leg touches Jūshirō’s. Jūshirō’s head snaps sideways and his mouth drops open. Shunsui grins and waggles his fingers. “Hi,” he mouths.

“Pay _attention,”_ Jūshirō mouths back – but Shunsui sees a flush creeping into Jūshirō’s cheeks. _Pay attention?_ Shunsui thinks. _Heh! Not likely. Not likely at all._ He chuckles. Jūshirō’s flustered, bright-red face is so adorable and distracting that Shunsui figures he’s got about as good a chance of paying attention to the lecture as he does of becoming Captain-Commander of the Gotei-13.

So, Shunsui sighs, leans back again, and resigns himself to boredom. He doesn’t move his leg, though – he keeps it right where it is, pressed up against Jūshirō’s on the bench.

And Jūshirō, Shunsui notes, doesn’t move his leg either.

And that’s how they sit, unspeaking but leg-to-leg beneath the table, throughout the next forty minutes of the lecture. It’s not much, but Shunsui feels his stupid little heart do a stupid little flip anyway.

It’s gotta be a good sign, right?

 

***

 

“On your left!”

Jūshirō whirls around and flings up his sealed katana, parrying a nonchalant swing from Shunsui’s short sword. Metal meets metal, and Jūshirō feels the contact shudder through his arms, all the way from his wrists to his shoulders. He grins. “Really? My left?” he says, disengaging his blade and dancing sideways.

“Eh. My left, your right. _So_ sorry – honest mistake!” But Shunsui’s own grin, sly and a touch too self-satisfied, says otherwise.

“Honest mistake?” counters Jūshirō, ducking low beneath a swing from Shunsui’s long sword and taking two steps back. “I’m _sure!”_

“You _wound_ me, my friend!”

“Not _yet…”_ Jūshirō thrusts his katana forward, aiming for Shunsui’s side. He misses by barely an inch as Shunsui twists around, agile body moving gracefully as he dodges.

“You were saying?”

“Give me _just_ a minute – I’ll wound you in earnest before too long!”

“It’s _awful_ fun to watch you try!”

“Try? Hardly! You’ll see - !”

Sparring this afternoon had been a fantastic idea, Jūshirō can’t help but think. True, he’d only proposed it to avoid talking about… _well… everything really, I suppose…_ but even so, he and Shunsui are bantering effortlessly, as if by reflex, just the way they always have when they've sparred in the past. And it feels… normal. It feels uncomplicated, straightforward. It feels _good_.

On top of that, Jūshirō’s delighted to have a blade in his hands again. It’s been three weeks since he last wielded his zanpakuto, and both he and Sōgyo no Kotowari have missed it tremendously. Even though he and Shunsui aren’t using shikai today, Jūshirō feels deep pleasure and affection emanating from his zanpakuto. _I won’t leave you alone for so long ever again, boys,_ he tells his weapon. _I won’t. I promise!_

It was Shunsui who had suggested they spar using sealed weapons. “We could use the practice,” he’d said. “We always spar using shikai – I wanna make sure my technique with my sealed weapons hasn’t gotten sloppy.” It had been a clever way to phrase the suggestion, and Jūshirō hadn’t protested. Deny it though he might like to, Jūshirō knows he hasn’t quite returned to full strength. So, he’d agreed – but only under the pretense that his own technique with his sealed weapon could use some honing, too.

After only about half an hour, Jūshirō feels his limbs begin to ache. _Damn_ , he thinks. _So soon?_ It makes perfect sense that he should grow tired quickly – he knows it does – but it’s awfully irritating, no matter the reason. He thrusts more and more energy into his reiatsu, and gradually, the aching begins to dull. _Good. I can keep going. I’ve got to show Shunsui… got to show him that I’m still strong, despite everything…! Maybe… m-maybe that’ll keep him from worrying so much…_

But after a full hour has passed, Jūshirō knows that he’s struggling. Neither he nor Shunsui has managed to land a blow yet, but he can sense that Shunsui is steadily gaining the upper hand. Jūshirō’s cuts and parries are growing increasingly messy, and Shunsui’s, it seems, are growing increasingly fast and ruthless. Shunsui’s face gleams with a fine coat of perspiration; Jūshirō has to blink like mad to keep the torrents of sweat running down his forehead from stinging his eyes and clouding his vision. They’re jumping and gliding all over the field – no one else has entered the training grounds, and so they decided to take advantage of the space, using as much of it as they please – and even though Jūshirō is genuinely happy for the rare opportunity, it’s becoming more and more difficult for him to keep up with the large scale and relentless pace of the fight.

Jūshirō lunges forward, hoping that the blow he’s aimed at Shunsui’s left side might land. But Shunsui, who’s been swinging his short sword in a lazy circle, brings both of his blades smoothly up over his head, crossing one atop the other in a grandiose, showy parry.

And then, he shoves. Hard.

Jūshirō’s knees buckle. He hits the ground, but doesn’t lower his blade, not yet – _not yet – I’m not done yet –_ but he knows in his heart that the fight is as good as over now. His arms tremble beneath the weight of Shunsui’s attack, and he feels himself pushed farther and farther and farther backwards. Shunsui bears down upon him with extraordinary force – he leans in closer – closer – _closer_ – applying more pressure to the blow as he does. _Finish it,_ Jūshirō prays silently. _I’m not going to give up – I’m not just going to let you have this, but – but, my gods! – My gods, you could finish it now, Shunsui! – Why won’t you finish it? – Why – ?_

Still blinking desperately, Jūshirō tries to read Shunsui’s expression. Shunsui’s face is mere inches from his now. Jūshirō feels Shunsui’s breath, hot and hurried, on his skin. It’s as if the air between them has gone electric somehow, charged with three weeks’ worth of incredible tension and urgent, if unspoken, desire –

_…desire?_

_Shunsui…?_

...and just like that, Jūshirō understands.

He lets his arms fall to his sides -  _Could it – could it be?! -_ he lets his head drop onto his bare chest – _it’s too good to be true, but – my gods, Shunsui! –_ he lets his shoulders slump – _I see it – it’s real – it’s real! –_ he lets his breathing slow –

His lips twitch as he tries to smile. “I…” he gasps, “Shunsui, I…”

He feels strong hands grasping his shoulders, keeping him upright. “Jūshirō?” Shunsui’s voice is distant, hazy – it sounds as if it’s coming from the far end of a long tunnel. “Jūshirō? You okay?”

Jūshirō only laughs.

 

***

 

To be fair, Shunsui had been playing rough with Jūshirō on purpose. The beautiful idiot had requested a spar, after all – and so, a spar, Shunsui had decided, was what he was going to get.

But now, Shunsui’s wondering if, maybe, he’d taken things a little too far.

Jūshirō’s conscious - _for now, anyway_ , Shunsui thinks - but both his body and his reiatsu are shaking like crazy. His fingers are still curled limply around the hilt of his katana, but it lays, disregarded, beside him in the grass. His eyes, usually so clear and bright, have gone glassy, and they can’t seem to stay focused.

“Jūshirō,” Shunsui says again, laying his palm on his friend’s cheek and tapping gently with his fingertips. “Hey – _hey_ , man. C’mon – c’mon, man – talk to me...”

Nothing, though – just faint laughter, of all things. Despite himself, Shunsui can’t keep a small smile from his face. Laughter – of course. It’s only the most Jūshirō thing in the universe, to laugh at a time like this.

Shunsui decides to try a different tactic. “Yo – hey, Jūshirō,” he says, doing his best to sound kind, “what’s… what’s funny, huh? You wanna tell me?”

Those green eyes, still strangely clouded, flicker up to Shunsui’s face. “I…” Jūshirō says, voice unexpectedly strong, “I… can’t faint!” Another burst of laughter escapes him. “My… my body _wants_ to faint, but my reiatsu won’t let it! Isn’t that funny?”

“Uh.” Shunsui stares, dumbfounded. “That… uh, _yeah_ , that – that’s freakin’ hilarious – _jeez_ , man, you’ve got a fucked sense of humor. You know that?”

Jūshirō shrugs. “Maybe!” he says, still laughing. His eyes, which are starting to regain their usual clarity, slide down to his zanpakuto on the ground. “Oh,” he mutters. “Say, Shunsui – we’ve still got a fight to finish, haven’t we?”

“…seriously?”

“Of course! You – you didn’t cut me just now, did you? I – I didn’t miss it?”

“Uh. No?”

“Well, then! We –”

“Uh. Jūshirō, don’t – don’t take this the wrong way, but I _really_ don’t wanna fight you if – y’know, if you’re –”

“Yes?” Jūshirō’s eyes have completely cleared now. His gaze burns into Shunsui, fierce and piercing.

“Don’t make me go there, dude. You – you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about – so _don’t_ make me go there.”

Jūshirō pauses. Then – “We agreed first blood,” he says quietly.

“I’m… willing to make an exception in this case.”

“No –”

“Jūshirō, you –”

“ _No._ Don’t you make an exception of me, Shunsui. Please – _please_ don’t do that. Not – ” Jūshirō swallows, his words seeming caught. “Not _you_ ,” he finishes, his voice at a whisper now. “ _Please._ Not you, too.”

The kneel together in silence. Shunsui keeps his hands right where they are, firmly fixed on Jūshirō’s shoulders. He wants nothing more than to pull his friend into a tight embrace – to comfort him – and, _yes_ , to kiss him, too, to steady those pale, quivering lips by making them melt beneath his own – but he doesn’t dare.

After a moment, Jūshirō speaks again. “How… how about this,” he says. “We spar to first blood. Then – hear me out, Shunsui, _please_ … We spar to first blood. And then…” He brings his free hand, the one not still clutching Sōgyo no Kotowari, up to his own shoulder, and he rests it on top of Shunsui’s. “And then… we talk.”

Shunsui starts. “You – you mean it?”

Jūshirō nods. “I… I think I’m ready. I…” He blushes, looks askance. “I… didn’t want to believe it before. I – I’m not sure I fully believe it _now,_ but –”

“Wait a sec – believe – believe what?”

“Believe what?” Jūshirō’s eyes go wide. “B-believe – a-ah – believe that – _a-ah_ – oh, _gods_ …”

“Hang on – you mean – you mean, you didn’t believe that I – that I was serious? That I – that I really want – ?”

“I-I – y-yes, I –”

“Jūshirō! That’s crazy! That’s – that’s –” Shunsui shakes his head. _“Why?”_ he asks, incredulous. “Why didn’t you believe it?”

A wry smile from Jūshirō now. “Th-that’s… one of the things we can talk about, I suppose,” he says. “But first – a-ah – our spar, Shunsui? First blood?”

Shunsui frowns. Sparring with Jūshirō in this state still doesn’t sit well with him. Jūshirō’s not shaking anymore, but the guy barely looks like he can stand up, let alone swing his zanpakuto –

And then, Shunsui has an idea.

It scares him a little, that this idea came to him. It scares him a _lot_ that, the second it takes concrete shape in his mind, Katen Kyōkotsu twitches with excitement. _What kind of man thinks like this?_ he asks himself, not sure he wants to know the answer. Shunsui’s breath hisses out through slightly parted teeth. Something deep in his core tightens with hunger, with raw, impulsive energy.

He sees a flicker of uncertainty in Jūshirō’s green eyes. “…Shunsui?” Jūshirō says.

“First blood, right?” Shunsui whispers.

“A-ah – yes –”

“First blood’s what you’re lookin’ for, right?” Shunsui trembles with anticipation. No matter what Jūshirō says, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself at this point.

“Y-yes, Shunsui – y-yes –”

Shunsui grins. “Then – _you got it, man.”_

Abruptly, Shunsui rips his hands off of Jūshirō’s shoulders and lets them slide all the way down his sides until he can press his palms into Jūshirō’s lower back. He drags his fingernails slowly up his friend’s slick skin, not hard enough to break the flesh – not there, not yet – but hard enough to tear a low, involuntary moan from Jūshirō’s throat. Jūshirō, clearly caught by surprise, as good as collapses against Shunsui, the contours of their bodies molding seamlessly together for the first time since that Tuesday night – and that’s when Shunsui makes his move. He grasps Jūshirō’s head with both hands, and kisses him _hard_. So hard, it _hurts_.

Shunsui opens his mouth. _“I told you I was serious,”_ he pants, unable to stop the words from spilling out – and when he feels Jūshirō trying to open his mouth, too, Shunsui seizes Jūshirō’s bottom lip with his teeth. Jūshirō tries to throw his head back, but Shunsui’s grip is too strong – Jūshirō gasps – Shunsui buries his fingers deeper in his friend’s damp, gnarled hair and runs his tongue along the part of Jūshirō’s lip which is now firmly held captive inside Shunsui’s mouth – _Not much longer now,_ Shunsui thinks, _come on – come on –_ he bites down harder – a cry from Jūshirō – pleasure, or pain? Jūshirō’s reiatsu says _pleasure_ , but Shunsui doesn’t know – Shunsui feels that pressure build – and build – and build –

And then, Shunsui tastes blood.

He breaks his contact with Jūshirō’s lips.

He shakes; he breathes.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he senses that Katen Kyōkotsu approves.

Shunsui returns his hands to his friend’s sides, and he runs them gently up and down, savoring the feeling of Jūshirō’s skin, keeping his touch light and loving. As he does, Jūshirō, steadily, brings two pale fingertips to his own mouth. When he pulls them away again, they’re stained bright red. Jūshirō stares at his fingers – looks up, stares up at Shunsui –

And he smiles. “You… you _are_ serious,” he says. And then, again, Jūshirō laughs. “A-ah… I suppose that’s first blood, then!”

Shunsui, shocked at himself and unable to do anything else, laughs, too. “Guess… I-I win?”

“I… I guess so…!”

Shunsui sighs, relieved. He pulls Jūshirō close, and cradles his head against his chest. “Thank the gods for that fucked sense of humor of yours,” Shunsui murmurs.

“…hmm?”

“Eh. Nothin’.” Shunsui releases Jūshirō from his embrace. He’s about to extend a hand to help Jūshirō stand up, but before he does, he adds, “Are you… are you okay, man?”

Jūshirō, earnest as ever, nods. “Mm- _hmm._ ”

“You’re… you’re sure? ’Cuz, that was – I mean, that was kinda –”

“Yes,” Jūshirō says, smile growing, “yes, it… a-admittedly, it was, but… but I’m all right, Shunsui. I am. I mean it.”

“You’re… _totally_ sure?”

 _“Yes.”_ In one smooth motion, Jūshirō rises. “I’m _totally_ sure.” He sways a little once he gets to his feet, but after a second, he seems to have steadied himself.

Shunsui stands, too. “…okay,” he says. “I… I’ll take your word for it, man.”

“Good,” says Jūshirō, turning towards the doors of the training grounds. “You should. And now – a cup of tea, and a little talk, I think! Rather a long time in coming, isn’t it? S-sorry about that – i-it’s probably on me, really –” Jūshirō starts towards the doors, taking easy, unhurried steps. “Seeing as,” he continues, “you’ve just gone and made it clear how _serious_ you are…!”

Jūshirō’s still smiling – but when he turns around, he must see that Shunsui isn’t doing the same. His smile fades; his face falls. He takes a few steps back, and grasps both of Shunsui’s hands in his own. “Shunsui,” he says softly, “you… _really_ , you shouldn’t worry.”

“Jūshirō –”

“I _know_ you, my friend. I know who you are – what you’re like – a-and I’ve even met Katen Kyōkotsu, remember?”

Shunsui hangs his head. He doesn’t deserve this kindness – this understanding. A man like him? No. No. Surely not.

“Shunsui – please. _Please_ don’t worry. Come, now – look at me.” Jūshirō squeezes Shunsui’s hands. _Dammit – I can’t resist the poor guy, can I?_ Shunsui glances up. Jūshirō’s green eyes bore into him – into his goddamn soul, seems like. “Shunsui?”

“…yeah?”

“You’re a _good man_ , Shunsui.”

“I... I don’t… I wouldn’t be too sure, man –”

“Well… whether I’m right or wrong, you’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.” And as if that settles everything, Jūshirō lets Shunsui’s hands drop, and he starts towards the doors once more.

Shunsui can’t seem to move.  After a moment, Jūshirō turns back, smiling again, and rolling those green eyes in mock-annoyance. “Come _on_ ,” he says. “It’s _all right!_ Here –” and he extends one hand, not unlike the way Shunsui did when they made their way together towards Jūshirō’s barracks that Tuesday night. “Take it,” Jūshirō urges, and Shunsui recognizes those words as the same ones he himself spoke on that Tuesday night, too.

Hesitantly, Shunsui steps forward and, even more hesitantly, he takes Jūshirō’s hand. “ _There_ ,” Jūshirō says. “Not so hard, is it?” Shunsui shakes his head. A nervous laugh slips out. He grips Jūshirō’s hand tightly – _even though I sure as hell don’t deserve to_.

Just before they push open the doors and emerge, still hand-in-hand, together into the Seireitei, Jūshirō leans in, and says again, “You’re a _good man,_ Shunsui. I’m sure of it. You’re a good man –”

And then, Jūshirō stands on tiptoe, and lays a small, kindly kiss on Shunsui’s cheek.

“– and I know you would never hurt me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well!  
>  Hello, there!  
> So! This - um - is the longest I've ever gone without updating this thing. I'm really, really sorry about that. It happened for a two main reasons...  
> Firstly, school. It's the end of the semester and the end of the academic year, and so work has kinda piled up, which means I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like. So. Y'know. That's pretty lame.  
> Secondly - and this is the main reason - I had a really, really, /really/ hard time piecing this little guy together. (As in - there are literally over 6,000 written-but-unused / potential words of this chapter sitting on my hard drive right now. Yeah. It was that rough.) Partly, it's because I liked the last chapter so much (it's always fun to write resolutions and/or fluff and/or fluffy resolutions, after all), and partly, because I knew that this chapter was going to have to take care of a lot of... eh, business, maybe? Basically, it didn't make sense in my brain for the boys to jump straight into a "honeymoon phase" or whatever, for several reasons. (Many of which, I should say, will make sense in the next chapter, when they finally have a freakin' adult conversation. For once. So, if it seems like there are some leaps in logic in this chapter - particularly when it comes to Jūshirō and his hesitations/reluctance - do bear with me. That's deliberate, and it'll all make more sense very soon.)
> 
> Phew! All right! Thanks a million for your patience, everyone. I hope I never go quite so long without updating again!  
> Much love to you all - and many, many thanks, of course, for reading!


	13. *UPDATE*

*UPDATE*

...hello again, everyone!

It's been a while, huh? I'd like to begin by apologizing for that. The last time I posted an update on this fic was about six months ago - and that's way, way,  _way_ too long, by my reckoning.

So, I'd like to offer something of an explanation. If I'd known six months ago that this fic would be taking the hiatus it did, I would have told you so. I intended to update the fic over the summer about as regularly as I used to - i.e. posting a chapter every one to two weeks or so - but, for various reasons, my time and my energy got away from me much more than I ever imagined they would. 

Additionally, I discovered shortly after posting Chapter 12 (Blood-Red, Part 1) that the story was moving a little too quickly for my liking. Chapters 1 through 11 had, more or less, felt quite natural to write, but I found myself stuck when I went to write Chapter 12. I banged it out and posted it anyway - but, I realize and acknowledge now, I did so against my better judgement. In the light of Chapter 12, I began to see that aspects of the plot - and, more importantly, of Shunsui's and Jūshirō's relationship - seemed rather forced to me. I didn't know where to go after Chapter 12, or how to move on.

I knew (and still know, by the way) where the plot was heading, and what had to happen in the end, but, looking back, I think I was a little over-eager to get there. Once I realized that, I also realized that this once-little fic was going to need some serious work if I was ever going to be happy with it. I resolved, at first, to make the edits promptly - to comb through the whole thing by, say, the end of June, and get back to posting new chapters shortly thereafter. 

Well. 

As you can see, things didn't quite go according to plan.

The edits took longer than I thought - and, actually, many of them are still under way. I still quite like this story, if I'm fully honest, and I care a lot about it - but, much to my frustration, that means that I'm hesitant to settle for anything less than borderline-perfection when it comes to posting chapters. I have a very strong idea in my head about how I'd like this story to feel, and, in its current form, the story doesn't feel that way. That tells me that there's more work to be done - and it's work that I'm very, very happy to do. I want to write a story that I'm happy with in the end, y'know? And for that to happen, intensive edits are extremely necessary. Some of the edits are subtle - so subtle, in fact, that, if you've been good enough to read both the old version and the new, you probably won't notice the changes between versions. (Some chapters might not have any changes at all, actually. There are a few I can think of that I'm very, very happy to leave as they are.) Some edits, on the other hand, are quite substantial, and will impact the plot in significant ways.

Additionally, I've done quite a lot of thinking about Shunsui and Jūshirō, both as individuals and as friends/lovers/partners/etc., since I first began to write this story. I've developed a few new headcanons, and I've done away with a few old ones. This story will be richer and fuller and more meaningful overall, I hope, if I change a few things - small things, it should be said, but key things, I think - to suit those headcanons.

So - what does this mean for 'Irooni' overall?

Well, first thing's first - the story is shifting locations. I'll leave this fic up on AO3 for as long as I feel that I want to - there's no real reason, the way I see it, to take it down. And, heck - some folks might even want to compare versions. I can't say, of course. But, from here on out, this fic will be titled 'Irooni (The First Draft),' and the new, edited fic will, once again, be called 'Irooni.' Selfishly, I kinda hate to start from scratch with hits and kudos and comments and all that - I'm only human, after all, and you've all been so incredibly generous and kind with your feedback - but I know the story will be cleaner and, I suspect, generally better, if I start with a fresh document. 

Secondly, it means that the structure of the plot is going to change a little, too. Chapters might be added, or taken away, and chapters might shift and change and disappear and pop back up again later. Overall, the burn between my two main Bleach boys is going to get even slower. I began writing this fic because I was interested in exploring how two people as different as Shunsui and Jūshirō could become such incredible friends, and, over the course of the first version of 'Irooni,' I did scratch the surface of that subject, I think - but I shoved them into a place of friendship ~~and, not long thereafter, flat-out and frankly impromptu shippiness~~ , rather than letting the friendship ~~and shippiness~~ develop naturally. Friendship doesn't just  _happen_ , even to guys like Shunsui and Jūshirō, who are, I would argue, perhaps the closest and best friends in the whole Bleach canon. No matter what, friendship is a journey. I set out to investigate that journey in this fic. I wasn't satisfied with what I presented in the first version; as such, I'm hoping, very, very much, to make the whole thing that much better in the updated version.

I think that's all I have to say for now, my friends. Thanks a million for reading, and thanks a billion for your support - I can't tell you what it means to me.

Much love to you all, now and always!

Best,

DameOfNoDelicacy (Del)

P.S. Oh! And - If you have any questions/comments/concerns, please don't hesitate to reach out! Leave a comment here on the Archive, if you like, or feel free to drop me an ask or a PM at [dameofnodelicacy.tumblr.com](dameofnodelicacy.tumblr.com). 


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